


The Rabble Who Scream Revolution

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex gets taken captive, Alternate History, Awkward Friendship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Goodbye, I apologize for this mess of the tags, I guess I should say there's some asshole named Robert in there for like 0.5 seconds, I wrote this because honestly I'm pissed at the government, Lams - Freeform, Laurens is asexual, M/M, Multi, Pirate AU, Slow Burn, ambiguous time period, and also I ship the founding fathers, anyway the government is corrupt, lams fanfic, no smut though guys, pirate!Laurens, please enjoy The Mistake That Is This Fanfiction, pretty much normal!Hamilton, probably a shitload of musical references because I have no shame, they want a revolution, they're government-fighting pirates, yeah that's right I went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cloudy the day it happens. </p><p>Alexander Hamilton stands at the bow of a small trade ship on a direct route to America. He doesn't see them coming. </p><p>Pirates. </p><p>(Or, the story in which John Laurens and co. are pirates and they take a bewildered Hamilton captive)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So.... This happened. 
> 
> I originally had a really great summary and notes planned out, and then AO3 decided to delete it, so sorry if I leave something out, but here's the rundown: 
> 
> This story is set in an ambiguous time period and definitely an alternative universe. I like to call it "Society Advanced But We Didn't" so, like, same-sex marriage and trans people are accepted, but it has canonical time period costumes and a slightly formal style of speech. Also, no machine guns or whatever. Literally all the governments are completely awful (like, you know, Britain when they started getting pissed off at the colonies in the 1760s and 70s, except perpetually). America is a collection of cities that have a bunch of people running them, but they don't do much and war is always breaking out. So there are pirates constantly trying to screw things up for the government (sabotaging missions, stealing from government ships, messing with trade vessels, etc.). 
> 
> I think that's all the backstory you actually need. IT'S OKAY IF YOU SKIPPED THAT. It's kind of outlined in the fic anyway. 
> 
> So, yes, please enjoy!

A lone figure stands at the bow of a distant ship, rising and falling rhythmically on the ever-changing sea. The person stares off blankly into the distance, though their features cannot yet be made out. Miles off, another man clenches his free hand on the edge of the crow’s nest for balance, slightly shifting the spyglass held to his eye, seeking out the flag of the ship. Not government, but that of a common trader. The man sighs, lowering the glass. He doesn’t wish to attack the vessel, but the current circumstances make his normally merciful views far less so.

“Laurens! See anything?” 

Laurens glances around foolishly for the speaker before sighing again and looking down. “A ship about 8 nautical miles southeast. Trade, not government. Do you think we should go for it, Angelica?” 

The young woman tilts her head thoughtfully, looking towards the ship she cannot yet see. “I’ll go get Washington.” 

George Washington is the captain of their ship, which is known simply as _The Mutineer_. More uneducated individuals would call their crew pirates. They’d be right, frankly, though the real purpose of the crew is basically just attacking the government. It’s not exactly a novel idea- hell, they share their waters with at least one other government-opposing pirates- but it’s also the best one any revolutionary’s got. Petty, some would say, robbing the ships of the government and army; it’s not as if they did any direct harm to the inhabitants of the ship, but the clear fact is that the people running the world are corrupt as all hell, and separately, there’s a lot of harm that comes from high-scale thieves screwing with finances and imports. Sometimes, Laurens feels a shadow of doubt that what they’re doing wasn’t quite right, but it takes a single coup, or a newspaper detailing the newest exorbitant tax, or even an execution of a crewmate or colleague to remind him exactly what has been done to him.

He shudders at the very memories and skims his way down from the crow’s nest. The first couple times the man attempted this, he fell and nearly killed himself, or at the very least slipped and gave himself nightmares for weeks on end. But now, he scales and descends the unforgiving wood, rope, and cloth light as a bird, and just as graceful. Laurens reaches the deck just in time for Washington to emerge from his quarters. He gives a cordial nod before snapping to attention as the captain begins to speak. 

“You say it’s a trade ship, then?” the captains asks; it’s a rhetorical question, but Laurens responds with another nod anyway. “It’ll be carrying food, of course, and as much I abhor random attackings of civilian ships, this is a necessary cost. Besides, in all likelihood, the vessel has ties to the government, anyway, if it is traversing these waters so freely.” 

“It did not have any colors on it, of the British monarchy or otherwise,” Laurens offers, though he knows Washington has already made his choice. 

The captain sighs. “As I said. A necessary cost.” He fixes the unrelenting smaller man with a piercing stare. “We are starving, Laurens. We lack even the money to buy a loaf of bread from market, and even with the coins, the nearest port is miles away.” 

A sigh from Laurens. “Yes, sir.” 

As if clockwork, the crew flies into action, turning the old, creaking ship about and sailing her at a relatively formidable clip towards the traders. They’re a small group, really, composed of an immigrant Frenchman, Lafayette, an ex-tailor, Mulligan (he doubles as the cook; thank God, or they’d have starved to death long before now), and the three Schuylers, who were once noblewomen: Angelica, Eliza, and the youngest, Peggy. The ship’s officers are Charles Lee (Laurens can’t stand the man- he wasn’t at all supportive of the new laws, which were, in Laurens’s opinion, literally the only thing the government had ever done right. Legalizing marriage between all genders and declaring discrimination against such people illegal- what’s not to like?), Washington’s wife, Martha, Mercer, an ex-general, and a terrifyingly amazing woman known only by her last name: Reynolds. No one is exactly sure what the ship’s officers actually do, except that they’re generally superior at pirating and being slightly snobbish, except for Reynolds. 

It isn’t long before they’re close enough to the other vessel to raise their flag- an ancient, tattered cloth emblazoned with red and white stripes lined up to a blue box enclosing a circle of thirteen stars. The flag is a symbol of fear throughout the government ships, not that they get much glory for it, but there’s a certain amount of pride in seeing the recognition and terror in the face of a tough commander. 

Maybe that’s why Laurens does it. 

Maybe he just wants people to be afraid of him, instead of the other way around. 

The man refuses to let himself dwell on it. Instead, he draws his sword and cutlass, and prepares for his own storm. 

xxx 

Alexander Hamilton leaps from the bow of the trade ship, eyes narrowing as he tries to make out the flag of the vessel approaching him. He doesn’t recognize it- a splash of red, white and blue color- but gets the feeling that he should be afraid. 

“Pirates!” screams the navigator from where he stands near the mast, and Alexander decides that, okay, maybe he should be afraid. He’s heard the stories, of course; who hasn’t? Pirates haunt the nightmares of every child. Ruthless men and women trying to play their savagery off as dignity and honor, murdering and stealing. Besides, this poses far too many issues to his own goals, e.g. joining the newest up-and-coming country of America. Granted, it’s not officially recognized as a nation yet, it being more of a group of towns, but goddamnit, Alexander could make it a nation, given about a decade and a couple men to count on. Though of course he’s heard the rumors of its scraggly government being half witted and at least as awful and murderous as pirates. He’s not going to let this group of armed idiots get in the way of him and his future. 

So instead of yelling and scrambling around for pistols, Hamilton opts to just glare out at the pirate ship, as if they’re going to be deterred by a tiny 19-year-old without a weapon. 

The merchant who allowed him on this vessel in the first places dashes out of his quarters. “What is this?” he spits furiously, sneering at his crew, who point wordlessly towards the pirates, who are growing closer by the second. Alexander watches with satisfaction as the blood drains from the merchant’s face; although the man was his salvation, his escape from hell, he’d never liked the young trader. The very limited power of a merchant had gone to his head, and he wielded that small amount of authority with an iron fist and a bad temper. One of the crewmen advance hesitantly towards him.

“Robert, please, while we still can, we need to flee-” 

“We are men, not ants, and we will react to the situation as such!” And with that, Robert _(So that’s his name,_ Alexander reflects; he’d never bothered to learn it even though Robert was technically the catalyst of probably the biggest change of his life: leaving St. Croix) pulled a pistol out of seemingly nowhere, squinted, and fired several shots at the pirate ship, face contorted into fury. 

Distant yells break out, and someone screams; Robert laughs almost maniacally and fires once more into the air. An unnecessary, brutal warning.

xxx 

Mercer drops to the deck, dead, and Washington’s regret-filled yet determined expression turns to grim rage before his officer even hits the ground. 

_They’re all going to die,_ Laurens thinks, a sinking feeling in his chest. 

He’s never liked a massacre.

xxx 

_We’re all going to die._

Alexander straightens up and stands stiff, ignoring the pain that strikes through him. A taunting voice rings wrathfully in his head: _So much for your dreams of the great fucking legacy. Say goodbye to dying like a martyr, earning a hero’s name. Bid farewell to the idea of changing the world. You are worthless, and not even yet an immigrant. You haven’t even made it to America, and you’ll already be slaughtered in a pointless coup._

No, he’ll stare death right in the eye, and hopes he doesn’t blink first. 

The voice hisses again, _Coward._

And then, in a mere moment, Alexander Hamilton’s world explodes. 

Wood sprays from all sides; a quick look around tells him that the mast has shattered and is tipping. Cannonball, he’d wager, but there’s no way to be sure. Alex gasps raggedly, shrapnel in his side impedimenting his movements, and crawls out of the way, hyperaware of the grains of wood under his fingertips. 

“Surrender or die,” intones a flat voice; though monotone, it is filled with the promise of death. Alexander begins to shake against his will, cowers behind the broken remains of the mast. A strange, quiet whining noise fills the air, and for a moment he wonders where it’s coming from and wants nothing more for it to stop before he realizes it’s coming from himself, and he closes his mouth and his eyes. 

Heat begins to lick at the air, which is soon filled with the shrieks of terror from the crew as a rapidly burning fire devours the wooden ship and the people in it. “Please!” comes broken yell before dissolving into sobs and the noise of crackling flames. Around Alexander, it’s strangely quiet, like the world has come to a stop. Until-

“Get up.” 

The voice is raw and even a little pitying, different from the one before. He doesn’t want pity.

“What?” Alexander rasps, slowly raising his eyes to meet those of the other person. It’s a man, a boy, even, at about his age, a year older at the most. He’s much taller than Alex is, and his eyes sparkle with the reflection of the flame so he can’t even make out the color or shade. 

“You heard me.” 

The other man offers a hand to him, and now Alexander can see the shame twisting his expression as he pulls Alex to his feet. For a moment, the pieces- mercy, salvation, but he doesn’t recognize the person- don’t add up, but then he catches sight of a small version of the flag sewn to the man’s lapel, and he pulls back. 

“You’re burning up my ship.” Alex winces at the choking noise in his voice as he states the obvious, but stands his ground, trying to will away the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

“I know. I… regret what my crewmates have done. Are doing.” A pause. “Please come with me.”

Alexander laughs roughly, a sound devoid of humor and emotion, as he gazes up at the man. “Are you honestly asking me to join your crew?” 

He huffs and glares down at him. “No, I’m saving your life; there’s a difference. We’ll see about you joining up later.”

Contemplative silence. Alexander isn’t a foolish man. He knows about governments and he knows about corruption of power and he knows about unbalanced finances and he knows about foolish, deadly laws. America is no land of opportunity, no matter how much he tries to kid himself. And maybe… maybe this is how he’s meant to make his mark. Fighting back. 

The pirate offers him his hand once more. “Come with me; this is your last chance. I swear to any God that may exist, you will be safe.” 

 

That’s something new. Alexander doesn’t trust people who make promises, never have, especially not enemies who just slaughtered everyone in the general vicinity, but even though instinctively despises this man with a burning passion, one that equals the flames surrounding the pair, he also believes him enough to take him on his word. Even if that man has destroyed any future he may have had in the falsely-named land of opportunity,

Hamilton nods slowly. Takes the pirate’s hand. Smooth, but a little callused, probably from hard work. Freckled. Tanned by the sun. A little burnt from the fire. He doesn’t trust that hand, hates that hand, wraps his fingers around it carefully anyway. 

“Very well.” 

Alexander Hamilton allows himself to be led from the life that could have been, and into the life unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks for the comments on the first chapter! Hopefully this one is just as great, although it's a bit a shorter. Enjoy!

John Laurens hauls the other man through the wreckage of wood and coals and sparks. The shorter boy seems to be hovering uncertainly on the border of unconsciousness, which isn’t making his job any easier. Especially if the fact that the entire fucking world seems to be burning is brought into consideration. He still doesn’t know the captive’s name, which is a shame, because as John has been taught by his ridiculous amounts of novels, repeatedly yelling someone’s name is a good way to wake someone up. So instead, Laurens watches as the man’s eyes flutter and close, before, sighing, he pulls him up into his own arms, bridal style, and leaps across the thin gap between the two boats onto _The Mutineer._ Behind the pirate, the traders’ ship crackles with flames and sinks; he can’t bring himself to care.

He stumbles over the uneven planks and falls to the ground, grimacing as he drags himself up to his feet, practically flinging his captive out of his arms. Eliza lands, catlike, next to John, who sticks out his tongue (he nearly died; he reserves the right to be as moronically childish as he pleases) and crosses his arms. 

“Seriously? A captive? Wasn’t the point of the whole raid to get us some food?” she asks, rolling her eyes, though she still crouches down next to the sprawled-out body of the short man, eyes immediately going soft with worry. John huffs and sits next to her, out of breath, and examines his own injuries with a wince (they'll probably leave scars, judging off of the pain alone).

Eliza gives the short man a once-over and immediately begins hauling him in the direction of the “medic’s” quarters, which is basically just her bedroom piled wall to wall with medicinal herbs. She’s the only one with actual knowledge of healing, though, so they let her get away with the dangerous amount of extra weight on deck. Laurens stares at his hands. They’re shaking. Also burnt, which should be more concerning, but…. John Laurens is known for being the one with the steady hands. The one that doesn’t back down. The one that rushes into things with headstrong, youthful brazenness, with no fear in his eyes or heart. Never unsteady. Always a fighter. 

His hands are charred, and they are shaking. 

The middle Schuyler returns, and he curls them into fists at his sides, flinching at the pain. 

xxx 

Alexander wakes up abruptly, like a cannon had gone off in his ear. His first thought is that the ground is shaking. The second is that he’s rested on a makeshift hammock. Pain is ripping his body in half, but he feels far better than he did before, crouched on the burning vessel; the shrapnel in his side is gone, and his burnt hands are bandage. 

Voices are ringing furiously around the ship, from the next room over.

 _“Goddamnit, Washington, we have to keep him now! I couldn’t just leave him to die! He wasn’t with the traders, he wasn’t with the gover-”_ Alexander recognizes that voice. It’s the one from the fire, the one that grasped his hand and dragged him from hell.

Unfamiliar voice, now, full of authority and tempered rage. _“Laurens, I am your captain, you will address me as such. We can’t have any extras on this ship; we simply cannot afford it. He must pull his weight, and he is obviously injured. Scrawny, and probably weak, even when- if- he does heal.”_

 _“Captain, all due respect, but fuck that. I don’t care if he’s skinny and useless. Do you truly want to watch another innocent man die?"_ The voice is bitter. Cold. _“I guess that’s the question, isn’t it? I certainly didn’t. I didn’t want to see the flames devour his flesh, personally, but perhaps that was just me.”_

A bitter pause. 

_“Very well. He’s your problem now.”_

Footsteps, loud against the wood as they pause outside Alexander’s door before entering. It’s that man again, the pirate. He’s tall, Hamilton realizes, with curly black hair and freckles; would overall be probably kind of cute if he wasn't a murderer and a pirate. He narrows his eyes at the pirate. 

“What do you want?” Alex snaps, sitting up and attempting to conceal the agony it costs him. Judging by the pirate’s brittle, tired laugh, he wasn’t subtle. 

“I was checking on you, idiot. They all want to murder you. Or at least indirectly want you to die. Who’s to say Lee didn’t up and assassinate you? Suppose that would’ve been a shame.” 

Alexander’s lips twist downwards into a frown. He doesn’t like this man; that bit hasn’t changed. “No, what do you _want?_ From me?” 

The pirate rolls his eyes and glares down at him. “What’s your name? Where are you from? What your age?” 

“Why does it matter?” Alexander inquires testily, staring back. There’s something about this man that rubs him the wrong way, that makes him want to run or attack or do something. 

“These things need to be known. At least tell me your name so I can stop mentally referring to you as ‘the captive’ or ‘the short man’ or ‘the goddamn idiot who won’t tell me his name’, for instance.” 

Alex sighs loudly. “It’s Alexander Hamilton. You?” 

“John Laurens.” John’s voice is bitten off, clipped, reluctant. Hiding a knife’s edge of annoyance.

Well, that makes things easier. Alexander hates John Laurens. Great. The enemy has name. He can do this. 

“Alright, _John Laurens._ I’m 19 years old. I’m from St. Croix. I was headed towards America, until you decided to set my boat on fire for no particular reason before ruthlessly murdering the rest of traders.” 

John shrugs almost nonchalantly. “It was a necessary cost.” The words sound parroted, like he’s repeating them from some higher power. Strange, then, seeing the regret in his eyes. They’re hazel, and oddly sad. Even stranger to see emotion on the face of a pirate. 

“Well, getting on that ship included a necessary cost, too, but I didn’t have to set anyone on fire to pay it,” Alexander retorts after a beat of silence. Laurens is less perturbed by the barbed comment than one would expect. Which only pisses Hamilton off more. 

“Look, at this point, you’ve got two choices, Hamilton: join up or let yourself drown when Washington prods you over the edge of the plank,” John says, sounding disproportionately tired. “It’s your decision, but you don’t seem the type to pick death over life.” 

“You don’t know me, then,” Alexander fires back, but he already knows what he’s going to choose. If he’s going to die, it’ll be marked down in history, and being another casualty of the brutality of pirates, the scourge of the sea, well, that isn’t worth the history books. Silence falls over the pair as they stare each other solid in the eyes, tension in their gazes and muscles alike. 

“Fine,” he snaps after a while. “Introduce me to your moronic crew.” 

xxx 

_Damn, I want to break his neck,_ Laurens says to himself, like that’ll help things. He hates this man. Honestly, it had only taken him about three seconds of knowing Alexander to figure that out. Hates him for the way all his words are tinged with coldness, voice edged with sharp, jagged ice. Hates the way his eyes reflect the fire, even when there’s no flame to speak of. Hates the way his lips quirk up triumphantly whenever he retorts particularly cleverly. Hates how everyone seems to love him, even Washington, who only minutes earlier was swearing he was going to leave the man to the sea. Hates his obsidian-black hair, gleaming in the light of the setting sun (the clouds have fled away, leaving the sky clear and red). Hates his eyes dancing with humor and intensity, and, only when he meets John’s eyes, hatred.

 _It’s not my fault,_ he tells himself next, but he’s not so sure- was it not him that called the crew to action after the murder of Mercer? Was it not him that splashed the last reserves of _The Mutineer_ ’s oil over the deck of the traders’ ship? Was it not him who was the first to set the vessel alight, him who smiled sharply and fired bullets with a still hand into the hull of the ship, him who watched in satisfaction as the gaps took on water so quickly, him who watched fire lick hungrily at the wood, him who marched through the sparks with a passive, set expression, him, him, him, him him him him him---

Offering his hand to the only boy left alive wasn’t heroism, it was guilt. Laurens knows this. Knows Alexander has every right to hate him. He has no problem reciprocating. 

John Laurens is good with hate. Wielding hate. Taking hate. 

It’s his specialty. His skill. The only one he has to offer to a talented crew (Eliza can heal. Peggy can climb. Angelica can fight exceptionally well. Lafayette is incredible on raids. Hercules is a master of nearly everything. Washington is a great leader, Martha is a great caretaker, Reynolds is downright terrifying, Lee is intimidating, Mercer was brave. Laurens is hateful. Passionately so).

It’s all he knows. All he’s ever known. (He’s okay with that, he thinks). (He’s not, but he can pretend. He’s good at that, too).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With any luck, you really liked that. Please leave me a comment if you did. Or if you hated it. I'm not super partial, honestly. 
> 
> Angsty!Laurens is the best to write, not gonna lie. This chapter probably wasn't the tightest/most coherent because of really valid reasons that sound kind of stupid once written down. Also, I've been listening to Welcome To Night Vale lately, and you know what that does to logical thought (probably).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander introduces himself to the crew, forces words to not come spewing from his mouth.
> 
> John spreads his arms and gives himself to the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the great response to last chapter! It's very much appreciated! Also, school's out for the summer, so hell yeah I'm gonna be more active

Alexander pastes a relatively convincing smile across his face as he climbs on deck, John lurking behind him. It’s sunset now, the sky a glowing, deep blood-red hue that reflects kaleidoscopically off of the water. Perhaps on a better day, he’d admire it, take it in, but for now he’s got a job to do. He surveys the deck- there seem to be far less people than he expected. Three women, two people whose gender he doesn’t want to assume for fear of being wrong, and four men, including John. There’s also a body covered with a sheet, but he’s relatively sure that Robert accidentally shot the guy, so he opts not to ask about it. 

Laurens steps up to his side, pushing forward slightly, just enough to show who’s in charge (Alexander _hates_ when people do that around him, try to pull rank and put him in his place). “This is Alexander Hamilton. He… would like to join our crew, I think.” His face is smug as the small group of pirates begin to clamor angrily, and Alex glares at him; there were a million better ways to introduce him, ones that didn’t include immediate annoyance. 

One of the women shushes them, speaking in soothing, reasonable tones despite the situation. “You know Mercer’s dead. We need a replacement, and who else is it going to be?” 

“Yeah, but Eliza, Merce was an officer, and this guy’s practically a scrawny noodle with arms and a head,” comments a tall, muscular man wearing a ridiculous chef’s hat (in other circumstances Alexander would have laughed at the contrast, but the cook looks like he could break Alex in half with his bare hands). 

John rolls his eyes at all of them. “Well, what are we going to do about it? Murder him? Personally, I’ve had quite enough death for one day.” That shuts them up. Alexander is surprised by his own gratitude, but he quickly pushes it away; as soon as the attention is off of Laurens again the pirate goes back to glaring mutinously at him. 

“We’re keeping him and that’s final.” 

Everyone turns to the source of the voice- a tall man whose very stance screams of authority and whose voice rings with power. The pirates nod nearly in tandem and turn back, expressions ranging from neutral to excited. It’s obvious that they all practically worship the captain, especially considering how reluctant and even angry they looked minutes earlier. The only one unchanged is, of course, John Laurens, whose eyes are narrowed to slits as he places a hand on Alex’s back and gives him a tour of the ship, speaking in low, muttered tones. 

“That man was the captain. Captain Washington. You answer to him, or you die.” To punctuate the point, he jabs a harsh finger at Alexander before continuing. “She-” he points to the woman who has first spoken up for him- “is Eliza. Stay the fuck away from her, or you die.” Finger jab. “The tall woman who doesn’t leave her side is Angelica. She’ll probably kill you if provoked.” Finger jab again (Alexander is already getting sick of this). “The short one that trails behind them is their little sibling, Peggy. They’re agender. Respect that or die.” Finger jab. “Same goes for Lafayette, the skinny kid that hangs around the cook a lot. The cook is Hercules Mulligan. He’ll probably snap you like a piece of dry spaghetti if you step out of line, but honestly he’s also a softie, so I’ll do the snapping if you fuck with him. Reynolds is an officer- she’s the one that seduces people because she’s the most in-your-face hot person we’ve got on the ship- so she’ll probably do that then kill you.” Three finger jabs. “Then there’s Martha Washington, who’s a sweetheart, so Captain Washington will take care of you if you mess with her.” Mercifully, no finger jab. “Last of all, there’s Charles Lee, and honestly no one gives a flying fuck if you mess with him. Do what you want. I mean, Captain will get a little pissed off, but still.” 

Alexander can’t help but laugh at the last bit before quickly rearranging his face into a neutral, stoic expression (he won’t admit defeat no matter how funny a John Laurens joke is. The guy’s still an asshole, and it’s really starting to get on his nerves). Frantically, he runs the names in his mind and matches them to faces, mentally charting their potential danger to him. All the danger levels are absurdly high, because if he messes with one of them, accidentally or otherwise, at least one other person is going to swoop out of nowhere and murder him. 

_Awesome._

The pirate continues to lead him around the vessel, periodically grumbling to himself. Sometimes he’ll even crack a joke before looking disgusted with both himself and Alexander, which is equally amusing and annoying as hell. He’s realized it before, but now it’s stronger than ever: there’s just something about this man, this man that walks by his side, gesturing wildly about the ship, sometimes even laughing, that just throws him off. Perhaps in another life they would have been friends. Perhaps in another life, John Laurens didn’t kill his chance of a legacy, of freedom, of fame, of prosperity. Perhaps in another life, John Laurens didn’t burn the ship that was his last hope. 

Sighing, Hamilton looks up at the sky. The clouds have returned, dark and gloomy, in full force. The stars have hidden their light from the ship below, and although Alex has never spent enough time at sea to know the weather and what the slightest shift of the wind means… 

Even he can discern the smell of an oncoming storm. 

xxx 

It takes no genius to see that the little captive is distressed. 

Alexander’s not moving from his spot, frozen in the center of the main deck. Everyone else has already gone below for the night (they’re exhausted and they’ve survived a couple days without food; they can take the hunger till dawn), so it’s just Alex and him abovedecks. John follows his gaze up to the sky. _The stars have fled,_ he notes (it wouldn’t be the first time he experienced sorcery- one finds some weird shit as a pirate), before rolling his eyes at himself. _No, blocked out by the clouds. A storm’s coming._ Even as he thinks it, rain begins to sprinkle onto his forehead, slowly gaining weight and intensity. Laurens grins- he loves the rain, especially on nights like these. In the middle of storms: that’s when he does his best thinking. When he can figure out his feelings.

The other man still stands motionless, dark eyes fixed on where the stars should be.

“What, Hamilton, never seen a thunderhead before?” Laurens asks scornfully before he can bother to stop himself, though he doesn’t actually want to stop himself. “Where’ve you been all your life?” 

The other man is silent. Unlike him, though John hasn’t known him long enough to be certain. He’s pretty sure, however, that a silent Alexander Hamilton is not the way things work in this world or any, so, sighing, he backtracks a couple steps so he’s standing beside the other man. 

“What is it?” he tries again, forcing himself to soften his voice at the edge a little bit. Dull the knife that so often edges his words. Still, Alexander doesn’t move, barely even blinks. His eyes are wide, and they lack the fire that so often burns inside them, and that’s when John starts to get worried. Testily, he grabs the other man’s arm, and Alex whips around, sparking eyes exploding into flames. 

_“Don’t touch me!”_ Hamilton spits, flinging Laurens off, jaw set and chin tilted up ever so slightly. John leaps back, hands raising up defensively as his eyes narrow. 

He recovers quickly, growls, “Watch yourself, little captive,” and stalks away, Alexander trailing after him (he can feel the fury and indignance coming from the other man in waves of emotion, so much he could swear the anger is a real, tangible thing). “One last thing to show you. Then, you have to room with me, because apparently since I was merciful enough to drag you out of that hellhole of a ship, I have to deal with you for the rest of eternity.” 

The smaller man ignores the rest of the statement and catches up to him, mouth twisted down into a grimace even as he speaks. “What are you showing me?” The question comes out as more of a statement than a question. 

“Crow’s nest,” he mutters, beginning the still-nervewracking climb up the mast. “Hopefully you’re not scared of heights, Hamilton!” A slight movement of the wood beneath his hands and feet tell him that Alexander’s following him (that’s good, though he’s not sure why). 

John can hear the other man mumbling to himself as he scurries after the pirate: “Hmmph. Scare of tall places, my ass. I practically live in the heights. How dare he, that mangy--” 

“Keep up, Hamilton,” Laurens hisses down to him. 

Alexander huffs and glares at him for what feels like the thousandth time that evening. “I’ll be as slow as I want. Tell me, Laurens, is this how you get your kicks? Screwing around with the kid you’d like to think you saved?” 

John laughs, the noise brittle and unnatural, holding no amusement. “Tell me, Hamilton, exactly how great is your death wish?” He pulls a cutlass from his belt and continues his climb, ignoring the exasperated sigh from below. 

At long last, they reach the crow’s nest. _Technically,_ it’s only meant for one person, but honestly, John’s hardly eaten in days, and Alexander is, as Mulligan so eloquently put it earlier, a scrawny noodle. It’s nearly pouring now, and Laurens didn’t know any better, he’d swear that the fearless Alexander was shaking. John flicks the wet, black, curly hair out of his eyes, unable to hold back an elated laugh as the ship rocks up and down in the rising waves. They each have a hand wrapped around the mast; Alex’s knuckles are white from strain whereas John is hardly even holding on. This is where he feels free, uninhibited by any past he may have had, any government that may be ruining the world permanently, any hatred he may feel. He can’t even conceal himself beaming when he turns back to Alexander. 

“This is where I am all the time!” Laurens shouts, smiling hugely and flinging out his arms. He can still feel the hatred curdling beneath his skin, but for the moment, it’s swept away with the wind. 

The pirate can see the fear in the other man’s eyes, no matter how much the captive may try to hide it. “I salute you, then,” Hamilton states through gritted teeth, gazing off into space through the torrential rain. Both their clothing is soaked through to the skin, but Laurens is grinning. 

_I’m home,_ he thinks, at the same time remembering the warm glow of the lanterns belowdecks softly illuminating the faces of the only people he loves, and the dim lighting of the crow’s nest as rain whips into his face and wind pummels at his body. _I’m home,_ he thinks, as he flies, arms outstretched against the storm.

xxx

The only thought in Alexander’s head is _This man is fucking insane, what the actual hell is he doing---_

Perhaps once in his childhood, he’d loved the rain this much, smiled this much when the summer storms hit, enough to make his eyes crinkle around the edges, enough to make him laugh out of pure, wild glee. But those times are not now. 

Now, whenever the rain starts to fall, all he can see is a yellow sky. All he can hear is the screams of the dying. All he can feel is wood tearing apart around him, stabbing into him, wind whipping at his chest so strongly it threatens to carry him away, water choking his mouth, drowning him, and- 

Alexander pulls in a deep breath. _Not drowning,_ he tells himself firmly, exhaling. He hesitates. Inhales. 

_Safe. Afraid, full of anger, staving off grief, but… Safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I headcanon that John Laurens really loved the rain and storms. So sue me. Whereas then there's Alexander, scared shitless. 
> 
> So... Anyway! In other news, with any luck you really liked this next installment in the story! Please leave me a comment whether you did or not, and gain a free pirate ship!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you let the storm take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little bit to get out! I'm posting this from my phone, so there are probably WAY more typos and issues than normal, as well as being kinda shorter than normal. Regardless- enjoy!

After a while, John notices that he doesn’t have a short, trembling, soaking wet man by his side and gets a bit concerned. 

“Hamilton?” he shouts, looking around and flicking the sopping hair out of his eyes. The rain is falling in thick sheets now, enough that he can hardly see the bow of the ship anymore. John’s heart rate begins to speed up: it doesn’t matter what hatred he feels towards his captive, because it was still his responsibility to take care of the smaller man and only a couple hours in, he seems to have failed. He doesn’t realistically know if he can deal with another death on his conscience. 

Laurens sucks in a deep breath and starts climbing down the mast. 

It’s painstaking, grueling work. There are easier ways to get down from the crow’s nest, of course- but he’s never trusted the ropes, or zigzagging path that Reynolds took when she first showed John how to descend. So he struggles down the slick, wooden surface hand over hand, cursing himself, cursing the wind, cursing the torrential rain pummeling at his back. Sweat and water pours over his cold skin as he slowly climbs down. 

He drops to the ground, breathing hard and fast, glancing around wildly. “Where are you?” he rasps out desperately. “Please!” Someone who isn’t accustomed to the sea would probably die in this weather; hell, he spent his first storm in the hold, curled up into a ball and periodically retching. Again, John curses himself, this time for not looking out for his captive. _He’s probably been swept overboard,_ he thinks, half despondently and half with a savage satisfaction that shocks even himself. He’ll probably be murdered for letting such a promising new addition to the crew go to waste- even Reynolds seemed to have taken to Alexander, which was a rare occurrence, considering that the only substantial thing anyone knows about her past is that she was abused by a man she once trusted. 

Defeatedly, John climbs down belowdecks and heads to his quarters; with any luck, that’s where Hamilton is. Sure enough, he swings open his door, and Alexander is huddled on the ground. And… is he crying? Laurens inhales slowly. It makes sense, he supposes. He’s been heartless to the newcomer- with good reason, of course, but still- and Alexander has endured so much over one day alone. And now a storm hits and immediately a pirate takes him to to the highest point on his ship, a literal basket attached to a stick, and _laughs._

“Hey,” John whispers softly and a little awkwardly. What does one do when the person they hate, and who hates them, is curled up on the wooden floor of their room in tears? Slowly, carefully, he advances on Alexander, the way one would to a wild animal who may lash out at them. “It’s me,” he mutters, kneeling down beside the small man and puts an arm around him awkwardly. _What do I do?_ Laurens asks himself furiously. On one hand, he’s tempted to just leave, go back to the crow’s nest and let his emotions flee away with the gusts of wind, but on the other, he can’t just leave a man crying on the ground, no matter how much he may want to. So, sighing, he wraps his other arm around his captive. 

“G-get off of me,” Alexander babbles, shoving weakly at John’s arms. 

“Shh,” Laurens soothes, ignoring the other man’s nails scraping halfheartedly at his bare arm. “It’ll be alright, Hamilton. What’s wrong?” 

The captive inhales sharply and jolts closer to the pirate involuntarily. “The- the s-storm, it-” 

 

_Oh._

John shifts his position, and reluctantly starts rubbing the other man’s back. “The storm… what?” 

“It took everything from me, it-” 

“I thought that was me who did that?” Laurens inquires, then shuts his mouth. _Hm. Perhaps not the most tactful thing to say,_ he reflects, but Hamilton doesn’t seem to notice. 

Alexander swallows. “Everyone- dying. They all died. Drowning beneath the waves, in the rain. Tore apart houses. Killed children, it- I-” 

He breaks down into tears again, and Laurens sighs, holding him closer and glaring down at his head. “It’s okay, you’re safe now. Safe on a ship full of pirates, one of which who is very reluctant to be doing this, but safe all the same. No one is going to hurt you, you hear me, Hamilton? We’ve got swords and, I dunno, we’ll fight off the fuckin’ storm. Is that what you want?” 

Choked laughter. 

“Y-you can’t- fight- the hurricane, Laurens.” 

“Watch me, Hamilton.” 

 

xxx 

Alexander wakes up sprawled out on hard, slimy wood. He groans and lifts his head, but doesn’t open his eyes: he can still dare to hope. Perhaps- perhaps the last day didn’t even happen. Perhaps when his eyes open, he’ll see the brightly lit hold of the traders’ ship. Perhaps it was all a dream- the gunshots, the fire, the curly-haired pirate, the crew, the storm, and… _Shit._ He really hopes _that_ part wasn’t real. Apprehensively, he lets his eyes slide open and he peers around. 

“Damn it,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the pirate, who’s perched, sitting upright, in the hammock. 

"Good morning to you too, Hamilton,” Laurens grumbles, rolling off of the makeshift bed and getting to his feet. 

Alex rubs at his eyes and sits up. “Were you watching me sleep?” 

"Sue me. I didn’t want you to have another nervous breakdown on my watch.” The pirate shrugs and glances off at the wall as if embarrassed, and his tone is just a little kinder than usual, but that’s the least of Hamilton’s concerns. He leaps to his feet and grabs a pistol that’s been carelessly left on a desk practically overflowing with papers. It’s loaded. Of course it is. 

Alexander points it at the other man, who raises his hands, a dull, passive look on his face. “You- didn’t- see- that,” he hisses out, enunciating each word. “Do you understand me?” 

John snorts, a smirk working its way across his face. “Oh, sure, that’s fine. Just think you ought to know- storms happen a lot around here. Maybe next time, go to Eliza’s quarters. Or perhaps Martha’s; she’s good at mothering people.” 

“I don’t- I’m not-” Alex sputters, and Laurens slips past him, snatching the gun from his slack hands as he pushes open the door. 

“See you later, Hamilton,” he says, and his voice is tired as he goes abovedecks. 

After that, they don’t really speak. Alexander finds work to do as a part of pirate’s crew- the toil is endless- especially considering that he’s the new kid, and needs to “toughen up”, according to Lee, who, though Alex tries to like him just to spite Laurens, he already hates with a burning passion. So he has to do all the stereotypical bullshit like swabbing the deck instead of actually finding something useful to spend his time with. Sometimes, if he looks up, through the sails he can catch a glimpse of John Laurens up in the crow’s nest, eyes fixed on the horizon. In times like these, Alexander often finds himself trying to watch the edge of the sky, too, but he feels like he’s missing something. Like John sees something he does not with his experienced eyes. 

It infuriates him, sometimes. 

But life moves on. 

Systematically, Alexander ends up befriending the rest of the crew (excluding Lee, naturally): In Angelica, he finds a strange sort of camaraderie as she teaches him to fight. In Eliza, a soft, warm friendship that comforts him (and, yeah, he ends up going to her quarters at times, but to hang out with her, not to seek solace from storms, or… other reasons). In Peggy, the sort of thing he’d always wanted with his brother, but could never seem to attain- light, teasing, filled with sly grins and raucous laughter and serious advice. In Lafayette and Hercules, a group of friends that accept him for who he is and make him better, paired with drinking contests and stupid ideas. The only thing that holds them apart is his lack of such relationship with Laurens- Mulligan and Lafayette are both ridiculously attached to him, though they’ve promised not to try to force them into a friendship they’re so obviously not suited for. As for the officers, though, he’s still working on that: Reynolds seems to like him well enough, and respect him, too (which is something he hasn’t really gotten from this group of people). Martha is, true to John’s word again, like a mother to him, and Washington like a father. He constantly hears stories of Mercer, however, and despite his friendship with the majority of the crew, they’re muttered darkly, sometimes even in a spiteful hiss. 

But, be that as it may, Alexander has still found friendship in the strangest of places. Thus, here he stands six months later beside Lafayette, finally ready to go on his first raid. 

The privilege had been denied to him countless times over that time, and he’d fought for it, to prove that he was ready to fight by his new family’s side. Slowly but surely, they’d been traveling to port (Angelica claimed that they wanted to fuck up as many ships as possible on the way there while not dying of weird sicknesses and/or hunger, but Washington would always sigh and say that that wasn’t the point), and they’d met far too many government ships on the way back, and every time that happened, they’d raid said government ship. Mostly for survival, but also because they wanted to screw with the powers that be. 

He can feel John’s stare on his back, and he turns to look at the taller man, who stands behind him. “What?” Alexander snaps; his relationship with the man has not, in fact, improved over the last six months, though they’ve stopped verbally attacking each other in every conversation. Instead, it’s just every _other_ one now. 

Surprisingly, Laurens’s voice is, for once, excited, with a kind edge instead of an angry one. “Are you ready?” 

Despite himself and any negative feelings that he may feel towards the pirate, Alexander grins. “Hell yeah, I’m ready.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the idiots who don't know they're in love. 
> 
> So... Ideally you really liked this installment in TRWSR! Stay tuned for more standoffish gay pirates! In other news: I'm thinking about starting a lame Harry Potter AU seeing as none of the current ones actually update, even though I'm nowhere NEAR done with this one. Anyway. Please drop me a comment or some kudos below if you felt the barest shred of emotion while reading this. Or even if you didn't, because, hey, maybe emotion isn't your thing. Bye!~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander's first raid!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my lil boy is growing up :'))) he's going off to kill some stupid government people!!! tHEY GROW UP SO FAST

John Laurens resolves to keep a very close eye on the captive. 

Granted, Hamilton’s not much of a captive now- he’s an actual, functioning part of the crew. There’s no mistrust in anyone’s eyes when he strikes up a conversation with them, except, of course, him. It feels like Alexander is the punchline of a joke he never really understood to the point of hatred, except everyone else loves the joke and it never fails to make them smile. Which leaves him confused and a little bit angry. This time, though, he’s not watching Alexander out of any mistrust he may feel; he’s watching him to keep him safe. 

It doesn’t matter how much Angelica ruthlessly trains you, or Washington tells you how battle is: you’re never prepared for that first fight. 

WIth a shudder, John remembers how close he came to death that first time he set foot on an enemy ship. He made every mistake possible: fumbled his sword, failed to block a strike, got out of hearing range from the rest of the crew, angered the most skilled man on the vessel. Nearly got stabbed through the heart, except that he managed to dodge out of the way, instead skewered through the shoulder. Laurens was bedridden for days on end, but he never made those mistakes again. He’d thought he’d known what he was doing. Thought the countless bar brawls he’d been in could compare to a oceanic battlefield with ruthless, armed warriors. But then, imminent death has a funny way of proving one wrong.

So, yes, as much as the other man is repelled by him (and vice versa), he’s sticking close to the captive’s side. 

As is routine, Peggy flies the flag, and the crew coolly watches the faces of the people on the other ship, watches passive curiosity towards them turn in a heartbeat to horrified recognition. The goal of this raid is simply to take food, take gold, give a bit of time for people to utilize the lifeboats, then sink the ship. Simple, commonplace coup. Still, it’s a government ship- not just trade government, actual government- and the people with Great Britain often carry swords. More high-ranking ships, military ships, carry bayonets, but… As far as anyone knows, the nation isn’t at war. Yet. 

Washington gives them a nod as soon as they’re in range of ropes: the sign of attack. John shoots Alexander a warning look, though he knows the captive won’t see it, before grabbing a rope and swinging across to the other ship (it’s a stereotypical move, but honestly, there’s no fun in being a pirate if you’re not gonna play with cliched stuff). Hamilton follows close behind and ends up slamming into him. 

“Shit, sorry--” Alexander hisses, eyes going wide with fear and embarrassment; John just glares at him and draws his sword, turning his gaze towards the shocked passengers. 

“Surrender your gold. Surrender your food. You’ve got a few minutes. Go,” intones Laurens (he adopts the creepy monotone that Washington taught him once), pointing his sword towards the man standing right in front of him wearing what is obviously a captain’s hat. The other ship’s captain is scrawny. Thin. Probably never fought a day in his life. The type to waste away in front of a stack of paper and a quill. 

Which is why it’s so shocking when he starts to _laugh._

“What’s so funny?” Washington barks. The rest of John’s crew has formed behind him, Hamilton hovering hesitantly by his side. 

The captain stands up straight, fluidly moving away from the point of Laurens’s sword. “The fact that you think you’re better than us. Britain does not forget. We learn.” He raises his arms, and men they did not notice slink from the shadows. Burly men, drawing swords and holding pistols aloft. Their master stares Laurens right in the eye. “If it’s a massacre you want, it’s a massacre you’ll get. I simply don’t think it’s going to go the way you’re expecting.” 

At that, his henchmen leap forward, weapons raised, and the world turns into a blur, everything moving so slowly. 

Hissing out a curse, John rolls out of the way, jabbing his sword upward towards the captain’s chest. It should have connected, stabbed him straight through the chest, but he’s already gone, drawing a knife and facing off with Eliza. _Shit,_ Laurens thinks, _I’ve misjudged him._ What he’d thought was malnourishment and weakness was actually the thin, scrappy, knife-sharp wiriness that Alexander possesses. A strange kind of strength, but strength all the same. For a moment he stands frozen as Eliza’s throat is nearly slit by the captain, but then one of the henchmen is barreling towards him with a yell and he turns, eyes narrowed in focus. 

Laurens stabs first (he’s never been much for slashing; it’s good and well enough for when you want to wound your foe, but if you’re going in for the kill, well… the only reliable way to end someone is to skewer them, John thinks), aiming for the man’s stomach- a quick move, a relatively slow death if it hits the wrong spot. Exactly what he deserves. But his strike is parried with a clang of metal on metal, and a pang of fear is in John’s chest. He didn’t even see the sword being drawn, the movement was so fast. 

“Ah, an equal enemy,” John states regardless with a madman's grin, and for a moment the henchman’s confident smile falters, but then the other man goes in for the attack. 

The pirate is immediately on the defensive, sidestepping and dodging and parrying, moving fast while trying not to break his ankles on the uneven deck of the other ship as well as trying not to get decapitated. He blocks strike after strike, but within minutes he’s exhausted, sweat pouring down his neck as again and again he brings up his sword with already-weary arms. The henchman is grinning again as he presses Laurens closer and closer to the edge of ship. Again. Again. He can hear Angelica screaming in his head: _Faster, Laurens! What did I train you for, you idiotic excuse of a pirate? What do you do when the enemy is stronger than you, faster than you, better than you?_ He can’t remember. He can’t remember. He should remember, but he can’t, and now he’s going to die because he was a failure and he couldn’t handle it. 

“Duck!” shouts a voice, and the next thing John knows he’s being shoved to the ground, and the sick sound of a sword going through a body fills his ears. 

xxx 

The hench drops to the deck with a dull thud. 

Alexander pulls out his cutlass, breathing hard, feeling nauseated. At his feet, Laurens rolls over, panting. There’s blood, slick and red, pouring from a cut on his shoulder, and Hamilton isn’t sure if the pirate notices. 

“Oh God,” Alex mumbles, kneeling down at John’s side and rolling him over. 

It’s worse than even he expected: blood is flowing thick and fast from a wound. He’s been stabbed completely through just over his collarbone, and he didn’t even notice in the adrenaline rush. Alexander himself isn’t much better, of course- his skin is riddled with cuts and he’s pretty sure he accidentally got an artery on his leg nicked, but at least he isn’t laying half-conscious on enemy ground. 

“Get off me,” Laurens slurs, swatting weakly in Alexander’s general direction. 

He sighs loudly. “You fucking idiot. You’re gonna die, okay, and you’re gonna need help if you want to not do that.” The injured man huffs at him, eyes mere slits, but goes limp, glaring at him. 

A pause as Alexander contemplates what to do. 

“It hurts now,” John rasps out, like it costs him all the effort in the world, and Hamilton looks up, eyes darkening. “It didn’t before, but it does now.” 

“Hamilton! Take Laurens and get out of here!” Washington’s voice cuts through a daze he didn’t know he’d been in, and he gasps and picks up the man he hates bridal style, wincing at the extra weight.

“Damn, Laurens, do you have to be so heavy?” he growls, stumbling towards his crew. The ship is starting to sink. Not all the enemies are dead yet, but the fact is that the vessel is going down. Below, Alexander can hear Peggy scrambling for whatever goods they can find, and thanks anyone out there that at least they’re good at not dying. He scowls down at the man in his arms. “Idiot. Couldn’t just pick some sort of weakling to go after, could you? Had to go for the biggest one there. Had to be the freakin’ _hero.”_

Lafayette gives them one look and immediately hoists John’s limp body into their arms and leaps across the gap between the government ship and The Mutineer. They easily skim across the water and land with a thump on the deck of their ship. 

“Alexander, come on! You must hurry!” 

 

Involuntarily, he throws a desperate look towards the hold. “But Peggy’s still in here, and-” 

The French pirate gives a shout of exasperation. “It’s their job! Get your ass off that ship- they’re gonna detonate it if there’s any gunpowder at all down there!” They wave their arms frantically as Alexander’s eyes go wide and he jumps across the gap, staggering and falling to his knees as he lands on the wooden deck. 

“Is everyone going to be okay?” he asks, breathless as he hauls himself to his feet. 

Lafayette watches him with dark eyes. “I don’t know, little lion. I… Eliza was wounded badly. Laurens… is on the brink of death. Peggy- well, they’ll be fine. Same goes for Angelica; I would be shocked if anyone managed to land a blow on her. Mulligan as well, though he’s got some minor scratches. Reynolds, of course, is still flawless, Martha stayed behind to heal us this time, and Washington got himself a pretty bad cut on the arm, but he’ll be alright. Mostly, it’s Eliza and Laurens. I- I don’t know if they’ll be alright.” 

Alexander isn’t sure what he’ll do without them. He loves Eliza. Not romantically but… She’s the closest friend he’s ever had. Always there for him when he needs it. A candle in the night that had overtaken him when he first boarded this damned vessel against his will, something to hold onto. A bright, warm light that will remind him that not everything in this world is twisted and full of devastation. He hates John. It’s that enmity that keeps him going; on the dark nights, it’s something for him to believe in. They could all go to hell, and he’d still be sure that he’d despise Laurens with a burning passion. It keeps him strong, sharpens his blade, gives him something to fight against, reminds him of what his goal is- no matter how long he spends on this ship, no matter how many friends he may make, the pirate still symbolizes everything that was stolen from him when his own ship burned. He’ll sometimes look over at his foe (they’ve strung up another hammock for him), and he’ll just watch him- observe the way that his chest rises and falls, sometimes wishes that the constant movement will stop and at the same time glad it won’t. Glad it’ll stay there forever, unlike this ever-changing world. 

They are, between them, his anchors. Hatred and love crammed together on one ship, keeping it sailing. 

Lafayette gives him a sad look as they walk towards Martha’s quarters, holding John delicately in their arms. He could go check on his own wounds, back in his quarters, or he could follow. Doesn't take even a moment of thought with it. It’s not even a decision- Alexander races after the pair before he even knows what he’s doing. 

“I have to make sure they’re okay,” he whispers in explanation, disgusted by the shudder in his voice. The French pirate’s eyes are infinitely miserable as they turn to glance at him once more. 

“I know, little lion. I know.” 

Martha lets out a little gasp as they lay Laurens down on the table in her room. “Oh dear,” she mumbles, sounding all for all the world like a distressed old grandmother (she’s in her early 50’s, late 40’s, and she could probably kill a hench in, like, three seconds if pressed). “This will take some work.” 

“And Eliza?” Alexander asks, a little desperately. 

The medic shrugs dismissively. “Not too bad a case. More blood than injury, if you ask me. Also, it was the position that threw you off. Neck wounds- get the slightest glimpse of one, and you all faint.” Despite her slightly scornful words, Hamilton can’t mask the relief he feels, letting out a huge sigh and letting a smile spread across his face. Martha grins, if even a little. “Yes, she’ll be better than normal within the week.” 

Alexander beams and walks over to John’s limp form. “And… and Laurens?” He’s afraid of the answer almost immediately: Martha’s face falls the second the name leaves his mouth, lips twisting downward and eyes softening, like it’ll make the blow less awful.

“I’m sorry, dear, but I don’t know if he’s going to make it.” Her tone is apologetic, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think the stoic woman’s voice was shaking so slightly it was barely there.

“What?” Alexander croaks, his hands tightening into fists. He can feel his nails digging into his skin, the blood starting to trickle ever so slowly down his palms. 

The stings of pain jabbing all over his body don’t compare to the inexplicable fear he can feel pooling in the pit of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clarification: Alexander is just realizing that he doesn't want Laurens dead. He's not in love, but maybe he's starting to figure out that he sort of needs the man to keep himself sane
> 
> nerds
> 
> ANYWAY 
> 
> Hopefully you really really liked this chapter!! Please drop me a comment if you did. Or didn't. Like I said- I'm neither here nor there. I've had a pretty great response to this fic so far, so thank you all so much! Bye!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not so much the knowledge of what may come so much as the uncertainty of not knowing at all that scares them. 
> 
> Meanwhile, John Laurens's world burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* this is slowly getting angstier

Alexander stares at the wall on the opposite side of the room. He can’t bring himself to look down at the body on the table, the body so unnaturally still and unmoving that he can almost feel its lack of even the slightest twitch from where he stands. _Wake up,_ he thinks. _I need something to oppose, something to fight, something to anchor me. Please, wake up, Laurens._

The body still doesn’t move. 

The captive paces around the room, maneuvering instinctually around Martha while completely not noticing she’s even there. He practically wears a trail in the wooden floor as he walks, raking his hands through his hair in agitation. 

“Alexander, I love you, dear, but please get out of the room if you’re not going to help,” the medic snaps after about an hour of this. Alexander looks up, startled; he’d been in a daze for all that time, unaware of time passing.

“How long have I-” he starts to ask, then, at Martha’s pitying, exasperated look, sighs and walks away from the quarters, slamming the door behind him. He then continues the activity of agitatedly walking back and forth, back and forth, until the only thing that matters is the pounding of his footsteps on wood and the reddish sky. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Turn. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Turn. One…_

Nobody else is on deck. They’re down in the hold; if Alexander was listening, he could hear their nervous muttering as they discuss the events of the day. The pirates are shaken- they’d sustained many injuries. Peggy was yet to return. John’s life was still in flux. Below, the clattering of pots and pans can be distantly heard from the kitchen as Mulligan makes dinner. 

“Ham!” comes a shout, ripping Alexander from his haze of incoherent thought and worry once again. “Come on, have a drink with us.” Lafayette scrambles up on deck, a tentative smile on their face that immediately drops away as they look Hamilton up and down. “You look like you need it, friend.” 

He nods numbly and trails after the French pirate, eyes blank, the constant fire smoldered down to a pile of gray, dull ashes. Mulligan tosses a dusty bottle of beer at him as soon as he walks into the kitchen, which he catches at the last moment, expression barely even changing. Angelica is slumped against a wall, a pile of bottles surrounding her as she gazes off at nothing, draining what looks to be her 5th bottle. Reynolds is huddled with her, looking at the other woman worriedly but doing nothing to stop her- she looks nearly as bad as the oldest Schuyler. There’s the feeling that there’s something missing from the room. Three somethings, really: the whip-smart jokes of Peggy, a mischievous grin and the edge of a well-placed jab of humor. The smiling brightness of Eliza, a sunny warmth and a comforting hug. The brooding, fiery presence of John, a scorching heat on a cold winter’s night and the constant shadow that stays by your side. It feels empty without them. Cold and silent. 

“How are they?” Angelica asks, a desperate, pleading note no one’s ever heard before in her voice. 

Alexander swallows. “Eliza will be fine.” A weary smile tugs at the woman’s lips. “Laurens, though… he…” He can’t finish the sentence. “We don’t know.” Hercules swears softly, pops the lid to the nearest bottle and drains it in a gulp. 

“And Peggy?” Reynolds finishes hopefully. 

Lafayette justs shakes their head. 

Alexander joins Angelica on the wall, leaning his head back against the wood. “I can’t believe it,” he admits. No one replies, staring down at the ground. “Everyone’s gone.” 

“You hated Laurens, though, right?” A cold voice that Hamilton recognizes immediately. _Lee._ “Personally, I’m not too sorry he’s finally managed to kick the bucket. Only a matter of time, I suppose. He always was a reckless idiot. Probably didn’t even notice when he got skewered.” He’s standing in the doorway, not looking sad at all, and in that very moment everyone’s directionless anger all is pointed at him and him alone. 

The room bursts into a clamor of fury. Hands clench into fists, weapons are drawn, and the group advances as one on Lee, who holds up his hands, expression completely apathetic. 

“Oh please,” he growls, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like he ever did anything for this ship, did he? All he ever accomplished was to get into fights, then get stabbed.” 

“Alright, Lee, say that one more fucking time and I swear-” Alexander snarls. He can feel his hands shaking, but he can’t get them to stop. It’s exhaustion, he tries to convince himself, but he knows he’ll always be lying. 

Lee lets out a cold chuckle. “You never cared. You’re like me, Hamilton, don’t even try to deny it.” He’s backing away, though, hands raised in surrender. “Whatever. Hopefully he dies, though, am I right? And at least it’s only the useless ones missing in action.” The officer turns and races back up to abovedecks, and the room explodes into fury again. 

“OH MY GOD,” Angelica yells, kicking at the table, then wincing. “I SWEAR ONE OF THESE DAYS I’M GOING TO _SLIT THAT ASSHOLE’S THROAT---”_

Alexander is just as furious. “THAT PIECE OF SHIT-- LAURENS IS DYING UP THERE, AND EVEN IF I DON’T LIKE HIM, THAT DOESN’T MEAN I WANT HIM TO FUCKING _DIE---”_

Lafayette has taken the oldest Schuyler’s spot in the corner, seething, and Mulligan has gone back to making dinner, cutting up the fish with unnecessary anger. The French pirate is mumbling something quickly under their breath in a foreign language, and, judging by their face, it’s nothing complimentary towards Charles Lee. Reynolds has taken to throwing her knife at the wall repeatedly, hitting the same place every time, face twisted up in fury. When the meal is finally ready, the group barely picks at it, stabbing their forks angrily into their plates. 

After far too much time spent in dark silence, Alexander finally throws down his silverware and stomps away. “I’m going to go check on Laurens. And maybe Peggy’s back.” 

As he says the words, a distant explosion rings out and Angelica rockets to her feet, hope sparking in her eyes. “That has to be them. It has to be. It’s what they do for kicks, they blow up ships--” and with that she dashes up to the deck, the rest of the kitchen’s crew scrabbling after her. Despite his better instincts, Alexander makes a beeline for the crow’s nest- it’s much easier to climb when it’s not slick with rain- and claws his way up it, sometimes using the ropes for support. Breathing hard, he hauls himself into the basket perched atop the mast and picks up the spyglass, abandoned on the floor of the nest. Holding it makes his heart twist- it should be Laurens up here. He’s so much better at this sort of thing than Alex, no matter how much he (grudgingly) trains him. Heart beating rapidly, Hamilton peers through it at the horizon, scanning the waves. He can make out a distant shape, small and moving closer. 

“I- I think I see something!” he calls down. Lafayette cheers, but Angelica still looks tense and scared. “Okay, there’s a possibility it’s something else, but…” He checks again- it’s a little rowboat barely denting the surface of the still ocean with a small form inside it, paddling madly. They wait a few more nervous moments, Alexander never taking his eyes off of the tiny boat. It’s infuriating, the fact that he can’t make out any features. But finally, finally, he sees the short, madly curly hair, the spiderlike, strong body. They peer at him, probably grin (he can’t see for sure from so far away), and raise their middle finger high enough in the air that he can see (actually, it’s just their arm, but again, he can infer). “It’s them!” he yells, pumping his fist. Angelica lets out a sort of relieved laugh as Alexander grins; he can’t seem to stop. It takes only a couple of moments for Peggy to finally reach the ship and climb aboard. From up on top of the mast, it’s still hard to make out details, but it’s definitely them. They look a bit… charred, and smudged by gunpowder, and tired, and a little bit scratched up, and pretty damn waterlogged, but it’s still Peggy. 

“We missed you so much, Peggy!” Lafayette cries out, hugging the much shorter kid to their chest. Peggy grimaces and shoves them off, but they’re beaming. 

“Aw, you all didn’t really think I was dead?” they ask, smiling, but as they glance around at the grim, dull faces, at Angelica’s bottle of beer hanging limply at her side, their expression sombers. “Wait, what happened?” 

Mulligan, sending a glance towards Angelica and Alexander, leans down and murmurs the story into their ear. Peggy’s eyes fly open wide, and they immediately leap down belowdecks, headed straight for Eliza’s quarters. Resigned and exhausted, the rest follow, exchanging hopeless looks. 

“Alexander,” Reynolds calls. “Come with us.” 

He startles and looks down at her, tilting his head slightly. “Why?” Hamilton feels safe up here. That didn’t happen before. There’s a feeling he gets as he stands in this rickety nest, like nothing could touch him, like the world could split open and he’d be fine.

Her eyes are infinitely sad and she hesitates before continuing, like he’s a thin layer of glass, and the words are a hammer that will shatter him to pieces. “You know Laurens, in all likelihood, will not survive the night. I thought… I thought you may want to say good-bye.” Alexander can feel misguided anger rising in his chest, choking out any logical thought. 

“He’s not going to die!” he hisses furiously, glaring down at Reynolds. “He’s stronger than that, and besides, he’s not done tormenting me and ruining my life.” The officer laughs, but it’s not amused, just broken; it’s the sound of someone who has long since lost hope. 

“Your choice, I suppose.” She throws a glance towards belowdecks. “I’m going to check on Eliza.” 

Alexander sighs and rests his arms on the rim of the crow’s nest. He doesn’t watch her as she walks away. Turning his head towards the slowly emerging stars, he thinks, I have better things to see. In his mind, he tries not to picture Laurens bleeding out until the ground beneath the dying pirate’s body matches the color of the sky- a deep, deadly red. 

xxx 

The world of John Laurens is a haze. 

In some part of his mind that is not muddled by pain or loss of blood, he curses himself. How did I not notice the wound straight through me? It was in my sword arm, how… I am a fool. I have no right to be a pirate. No right to call myself intelligent.

Sometimes he’ll catch a glimpse of a blur that looks like Martha Washington, or perhaps taste the awful concoction someone forces down his throat, or the distinct smell of some sort of poultice pasted across his shoulder. Mostly, though, his senses are consumed by fire and the sound of screams. 

And then he’s standing on a scorched deck. 

Flames lick at him hungrily, devouring his flesh. He tries to run, to escape, but he’s chained to the ground. At the bow of a ship, a figure is silhouetted against a blood-red sunset, burning. The man does not move either, but Laurens can hear him screaming in pain. He can hear it in his mind, piercing through his brain straight to his heart. It doesn’t stop. It never stops. Even when he dies, even when the flames finally consume them both for good, the screaming will ring in his ears, settle in the pit of his chest, eat at him for the rest of eternity.

xxx 

Much later, Alexander finds himself at the base of the mast. He doesn’t remember climbing down from the crow’s nest, but obviously it happened or he wouldn’t be there. The man blinks uncertainly, glancing around (his eyes linger on the bow of the ship, where he once stood on a very different vessel. A vessel that was supposed to save his life, and oh, how the tables have turned now) before departing to his quarters. 

Except he can’t seem to sleep. 

He can’t close his eyes, either; they’re resolutely fixed on the empty hammock. The hammock that should be filled with a sleeping form, a form that he wishes would stop breathing but at the same time is unsure of being able to cope if the steady movements were ever to cease. 

And then he finds himself elsewhere once again. 

This time, though, he’s standing over a painfully still body. Martha glances over at him as he creeps in the door, looking incredibly tired. 

“Ah, you’re back,” she states, pausing in changing John’s bandages. “Look, dear, I need to sleep, but as this place has been turned into a makeshift hospital, I’d have to go to George’s room. Would you do me a favor and please look over Laurens while I’m gone? Wake me up if things go… awry.” 

“You mean more awry than they are already?” Alexander mutters darkly, but he nods and Martha practically runs from the room. He sighs and takes a seat at the bedside of the wounded Laurens. 

As soon as Martha is out of the room, John begins to writhe with pain, and Alexander’s heart twists. No matter how much he may hate this man, it hurts to see him in so much agony. 

“Damn it,” he mumbles. “Didn’t she give you anything for the pain?” He looks around desperately, but he knows absolutely nothing about herbs or medicine. _Why the hell did I agree to this?_

Just to feel like he’s doing something, he walks around the room, frantically reading the labels and murmuring the names under his breath. 

“P-Please,” somebody whimpers, voice shattered and broken and barely there. Alexander spins around, eyes widening. _Laurens?_

“Hey,” he whispers, returning to his side. “What’s wrong?” 

“Fire. Burning- all burning- they’re screaming- and they- they h-hate me- everyone I love, I- I-” Laurens gasps out, eyes shut tightly, and for the first time, Alexander truly feels sorry for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's getting a lot harder to write them full of hatred @ each other because like they gotta be human ya know
> 
> also raise your hand if you were worried about Peggy because I was even though I was the one writing it
> 
> basically Peggy's job is to blow shit up (bc come on you know Peggy would love that) and steal stuff while preferably not dying by the way
> 
> Anyway. Please, please, please, give me some comments! Don't be shy! I love literally any feedback you're willing to give (positive or otherwise, haha). Thanks so much for the great reception of this little project!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long, long night (and day after).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all I can say is.. enjoy

After a couple moments of stunned silence, Alexander whips around and races up on deck, grabs the nearest bucket and leans precariously out of the ship. The ocean churns below him as he dunks the bucket underwater, nearly losing his grip on the edge of the vessel several times, heart nearly stopping on each occasion; after the hurricane, he physically could not bear being submerged, especially in deadly waters with no witnesses. But finally, he pulls the bucket from the sea overflowing with icy cold water and stumbles back to the quarters where John lies, the wooden bucket grating and dragging on the deck. 

Once he makes it back to Laurens, he wastes no time in tearing away the sleeve of the other man’s jacket (he might be willing to help the pirate, but he’s not going to ruin his own clothes to do so) and soaking it in water, laying it on his forehead. Alexander winces when he touches it- it’s burning hot, like he’s been laying next to a fire rather than in the cool belowdecks of a ship. The wet cloth is cool against the wounded man’s skin, but it’s nothing against the heat, yet there’s nothing he can do about it so he leans back and watches John and tries to ignore the pain he feels. 

It just isn’t right, seeing him like this. 

When Laurens is asleep, normally, he moves in slow, smooth ways if at all, chest rising and falling rhythmically. Like waves rushing in and out across a shoreline. Soothingly, even. It’s not like that now. Now, he writhes in agony, hands twitching percussively, head jerking back and forth, breathing rough and terrified. Alexander tries to hold him down, but nothing can: he is a force of nature, and he is scared and in pain. There’s nothing he can do. He is absolutely helpless. The captive is sure that Laurens is going to end up injuring himself even more sooner or later if this keeps up, but he can’t stop him. 

“Don’t,” he whispers before he can stop himself, and for a moment, John stills ever so slightly, hands still shaking, but they’re limp on the table. “Please, stay alive. Don’t hurt yourself.” It’s almost as if the pirate is listening. “You’ll be alright, Laurens.” Alexander doesn’t understand why, but he’s grinning now, a maniacal grin that’s completely unsuited to the situation (he’s looking after a dying man, for goodness’ sake), and the words are continuing to flood out of him. “You wouldn’t leave me anyway. Never could back down from the damn fight, could you? Never took your time? Well, I’m here. They’re all here. You could fight me. And, hell, would you even let yourself die before shooting Lee? Don’t even lie; you know you wouldn’t. I’d gladly duel you in hell, but on the other hand, what fun would that be? Come on, Laurens.” A pause. “I wonder, if I keep talking will you actually go to sleep and drop the fever hallucinations bullshit? Is that a yes? Am I just talking to myself again?” He laughs despite himself. “Wouldn’t be anything new, but still.” 

He pauses one final time, looking down at Laurens. His breathing has slowed down at least a little, and his hands have stilled. Alexander allows himself a satisfied grin. 

“Huh. Did I just lull you to sleep, pirate? Well, there you go. Not so useless after all.” 

The captive watches Laurens for the rest of the night. It’s nothing new, gazing on John’s sleeping form, but of course it’s different now. Less hostile. Only slightly less, aggression fading from a constant spike of fury in his head to a dull, endless anger, but the sentiment still stands: he’s sure that he doesn’t want that steady pace of the other man’s breath to cease.

Only when the first rays of sunshine slant through the holes in the wall do things take a turn for the worse. 

Alexander awakens from a light doze to John’s rough, panicked breathing, more gasps of pain than breaths. “Laurens?” he rasps, leaning over the other man. He clears his throat. “Are you alright?” Hazel eyes fly open, and the pirate lets out a choked scream, shoving Hamilton back. 

“G-get away!” he pants, eyes widened and hazy with agony. “Are-are you going to hurt me too?” An inhuman noise flies from the pirate’s throat, half-sob and half-shout. “Burn me too? I’ll stab you right through the chest, I’ll let you die in fire with me, I’ll- I’ll-” Tears are streaking John’s freckled cheeks, and Alexander backs away, hands raised, heart beating madly. 

“There’s no fire here, Laurens,” he says softly, as much as he wants to scream and make him shut up. _He’s delirious._ he reminds himself. _Don't go off on him._ “I promise, no one wants to- well, no one will hurt you.” The man obviously notices his slip-up and sneers at him, still shaking with sobs. 

“Ha. Well, tell me how you feel when you’ve got your shoulder set on fire, run through with a sword made of coals--- tell me how unburnt you are then, tell me there’s no fire here then, bastard-” 

It takes all of Alexander’s strength and reason to restrain himself. It’s been months since he heard the jab aimed at him, months since that word left anyone’s mouth, months since he felt like he’d been stabbed in the stomach. Months- 

He takes a deep, steadying breath. “I’m safe. You’re safe. Do you hear me, Laurens? You’ve been wounded, but you are going to be perfectly alright, do you understand?” He hesitates, remembering the night he cried in John’s arms and at the same time trying to forget. “Whoever’s hurt you, they can’t get to you here. I’ll fight all of them, the way you’re going to fight off the hurricane. Remember?” 

Something changes in the wounded pirate’s eyes, then, and just like that, it’s over. Laurens rests his head against the table and closes his eyes, gasping breaths slowing down. 

xxx 

John finally comes to again, and this time the afternoon sun is beating down on him through the cracks and flaws in the wall. “W-what…?” he gasps out through a raw throat (hazily, he wonders why his vocal cords feel this way- as far as he can remember, he most certainly had not done anything to make his voice so rough). The silhouette of a man is framed against the light. Short, painfully skinny, long hair tumbling down his shoulders. He turns his head towards him. “What…?” he tries again, and the man looks up. Laurens squints through blurred vision at him. It takes a moment for him to recognize him, and when he does, he nearly falls off the table. 

“Welcome back to the land of living, Laurens,” Alexander Hamilton mutters at him, eyes downcast. With a quiet hiss of pain, John sits up and stares at him. There are tear tracks trailing down the other man’s face, and his dark eyes are tinged with red around the edges. 

“What happened?” he finally gets out, and Alexander shoots him a suspicious look. 

“This really is John speaking? Not the hallucination-plagued delirious John Laurens who threatened to burn and skewer me?” His captive’s voice is gruff and frustrated, but beneath it, the pirate can sense the hurt and bewilderment (that’s not to say that Alexander isn’t angry at him- that bit’s obvious and definitely true- but that’s sure as hell not all there is).

Laurens glares at him regardless. “Obviously. What even happened?” 

“You got stabbed, I saved your life, two-thirds of the Schuyler set nearly died, Martha and I attempted to nurse you back to health, Angelica got drunk off her ass, you woke up at dawn and tried to assassinate me.” 

The pirate blinks, dumbfounded. “So… er… it seems I missed a lot, then.” 

Alexander lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” John sits up and winces, hand flying to his shoulder. A sick feeling jolts in his stomach when he feels the blood soaking through the bandages. 

“When was the last time you changed these things?” he snaps, trying to force any possible shred of fear from his voice. Hamilton glares at him and doesn’t offer up a response. _“Answer me,_ Hamilton!” 

The captive heaves out a huge sigh and walks over, though even he cannot mask a flinch when he sees the wound. “Twelve hours, give or take a few.” 

“Well, you may want to do that, then. Why the hell did Martha leave my shirt on, anyways? This is the only decent one I have left and now it’s bloodstained. Damn it,” John grumbles. The bandages are wrapped around his neck and under his armpit, like the medic had been afraid to check any other parts of his body. 

“Just be glad she took your coat off. Though, granted, that’s probably ruined too because I tore a piece off of it,” mutters Alexander, the hints of a smirk playing around his lips. 

Laurens rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up and get on with it.” He already feels faint just trying to sit up, and he also may or may not be on the verge of unconsciousness. 

“You’re really not in a position to be a sarcastic ass with me, Laurens,” his captive huffs, but even John can hear the barely-held back laughter in his voice and shoots him a grin. Alexander ignores him and pulls off John’s blood-soaked shirt, pointedly looking away, and John barks out a laugh, in turn ignoring the other man when he shoots him a furious stare. 

“Get a grip, Alexander. Afraid of a little blood?” 

Hamilton flushes and shoves at him lightly before gingerly removing the bandages, wincing again when he sees the wound. “Infected,” he states quietly. “I don’t know how to clean a wound, per se, but I will dump water over it, put some of the salve from the jar labeled “infection”, then get some new bandages if it’s any consolation.” John isn’t sure whether to be amused or kind of scared that this was the man taking care of him. 

“Where the hell is Martha?” he asks, scooting away from Alexander, who shrugs wordlessly (for once) before pouring water from a bucket in the corner of the room onto the cut. John lets out a screech of pain before he can stop himself. “WHAT THE _FUCK,_ HAMILTON? _IS THAT FUCKING SALTWATER?”_

“Shit,” Alexander mumbles. 

xxx 

It takes a while, but eventually, Hamilton eventually gets the pirate back to sleep. He’d made a ridiculous amount of mistakes (honestly, what was Martha thinking when she put him in charge of her most delicate patient), but now Laurens is passed out again, though again, not peacefully. 

The man is twitching back and forth, letting out a little hiss of pain every time he does so but doesn’t stop, either. His eyes are flitting around frantically under tightly closed eyelids, and his face is twisted up in agony as he mumbles under his breath, voice breaking every couple of words. 

Alexander’s heart aches for him, for enduring so much pain. 

It also aches for himself, not being able to help. For being helpless. _Inútil,_ he thinks bitterly. _Useless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot hole: Martha why did you trust Alexander, one of the least health-conscious men ever, to take care of Laurens, another of the least health-conscious men ever??? good question
> 
> saltwater is apparently good for wounds but also not good for wounds and also is painful as fuck 
> 
> Also: I'm thinking about killing someone off (not Hamilton or Laurens; I'm not evil enough for that, plus this is a Lams fic not a "one side of your OTP fucking dies before anything is resolved" fic), but I'm too lazy to tag for Major Character Death. Hahaha. Ha. Ha. Please leave a comment about what you think on THAT. 
> 
> More news: I've mentioned it before, but... Lams Harry Potter AU? I wouldn't abandon this story, no worries there. 
> 
> ANYWAY! Hopefully you really really liked this chapter/the feelings it made you feel, and please drop me a comment down below because I really do cherish them! I mentally squeal like an idiot whenever they pop up in my inbox!
> 
> (PS: free serenade if you catch the really not very subtle In the Heights reference and tell me below)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hate each other, but they still care, and that's the paradox that they both can't let themselves think about yet at the same time can't keep their minds away from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had no plans for this to be so angsty--
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

And so it goes. 

Alexander watches the pirate that pulled him from his life, from his _future,_ struggle to survive, to stay sane, and it hurts more than he would have believed. Thankfully, however, no more delirious outbursts after the first one occur, and though Hamilton doesn’t believe in any God (and sometimes, on darker days, free will, either) he thanks anyone out there for that, at least. He’s not sure if he could actually emotionally deal with that again: the fire of blind rage burning in John’s eyes, the voice fluctuating between slurred like molasses and sharp as knives, punctuated with gasps and hisses of pain with the slightest of movements. It wasn’t just the words that hurt him- it was these things and so much more that made him feel like a switchblade was being twisted into his stomach. 

But for now, Laurens seems to be stable, though his breathing is rough, serrated, even. Hamilton lets his head lean back against the wall; it’s been a long day, cooped up in here with the heat of fever hovering in the air, and the exhaustion of racing to get bucket after bucket of water, pinning John down when things get particularly bad, when he’s on the verge of more hallucinations or whatever the hell happened to him earlier. When the sun begins to set again, Martha slips back into the room like a wraith. 

“Where the hell were you?” Alexander rasps, lifting his head and fixing tired eyes on her. 

She looks a little sheepish as she replies. “I am sorry. I had to check on Eliza, and without Laurens, you, or the middle Schuyler, there weren’t enough people up on deck to keep things sailing smoothly. How is he?” Martha bustles over to John and lays the back of her hand on his forehead, brows drawing together. “Oh, dear. He’s gotten worse.” 

Hamilton flings his hands up in the air. “Of course he’s gotten worse! I know nothing about healing!” He clamps his mouth shut, immediately guilty- he hates yelling at Martha. _She’s been so good to me,_ he tells himself miserably, _and now she’ll hate me._

“You should get some fresh air, dear,” is all she says, though, and Alexander silently turns and retreats up to the deck. The sea breeze hits him hard when he walks out into the cool air, and he breathes in a lungful of it, then sighs it out in relief. 

“Hammy!” Peggy cries, grinning and rushing over to him. They wrap their arms around his skinny frame, and he laughs involuntarily, leaning his head on their shoulder before they pull back and study him. “We’ve missed you out here! How’s Laurens, by the way?” 

Alexander sighs. “He was hallucinating earlier. Threatened to burn and stab me before calling me a bastard. And, yeah, I know he hates me, but that isn’t something he’d do. Then he came to, but he’s running a high fever and the wound is getting infected. After that, though, he should be okay. Also, if you heard somebody screaming ‘is that fucking saltwater’, that was him screeching at me for pouring it on his wound.” Peggy snickers before sobering up. 

“I’m sorry,” they say, glancing belowdecks as if to see through the wood itself. “That must have been awful.” 

“It was.” 

They smile again, this time more tentative, spreading their arms. “But hey, maybe if he survives this, you’ll like each other instead of being fucking assholes twenty-four-seven.” 

Alexander snorts and rolls his eyes, slapping at their outstretched right arm lightly. “In your dreams. ‘Fucking asshole’ is his default setting.” 

Peggy sighs loudly in exasperation. “Whatever, Ham-man.” They shrug and race off towards the crow’s nest, scaling the mast in a matter of seconds and perching up in that rickety old basket (it’s too far away to see, but Alexander’s sure they’re smirking).

“Don’t call me that!” he yells after them, huffing when they pointedly ignore him. Alexander glances around uncomfortably. It feels weird out here, sans a certain John Laurens and Elizabeth Schuyler. The other crewmates seem to be feeling it, too- they’re less smooth as they move around, sometimes jerking to the side to get out of the way for someone that isn’t there, or shouting out the names of one of the incapacitated only for their eyes to go wide and face to crumple, or accidentally shooting wistful glances to where they should be standing. He finds himself doing it as well, which is even worse. 

_Damn it, Laurens, why can’t you just be alright? This is unproductive as hell._

xxx 

John wakes up to Martha Washington leaning over him, promptly lets out a muffled scream, jerks away, then screams again (this time with pain). So, really not the best way to reenter consciousness. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks kindly, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes. Laurens winces a little bit, but this time doesn’t move so quickly. 

He does, however, sit up, eyes squinching up with the sharp burst of agony. “Hell of a lot better than I was earlier. Whatever you did must’ve worked wonders.” 

Martha chuckles slightly and hands him a mug of tea (he hasn’t had tea in _forever-_ fresh water is incredibly hard to come by, so tea is a leisure he can’t really afford, which is a drastic change from his childhood, during which he drank a chamomile tea daily, manliness be damned). “Actually, dear, I’ve hardly done anything except to cool off your face. No, this is the work of Alexander.” John’s face screws up in vague disgust. 

“Ugh. Actually, no, I feel completely awful. My shoulder aches like hell itself burned a hole in it, I’m burning up, I’ve hardly had a drink in a day, and I’m starving but at the same time I’m not hungry at all.” 

Martha says drily, “Imagine that,” and stalks away, hopefully to get some food, because _goddamnit,_ he’s hungry, okay? He sighs broodily and sips at the tea, which is, despite his bad mood, fantastic. It reminds him of home _(That’s not a good place to think of, though, Laurens, stay off that subject-_ he thinks furiously, bitterly taking another sip of the brew), and as much as he tries to restrain himself, he can’t help but remember his mother smiling at him and teaching him how to make the hot drink, smiling when he forgets to put in the slightest bit of sugar and recoiling at the taste, the warm summer sun lighting everything a pale shade of gold, even the white porcelain cup. If he tries, he can forget what happened next- his father bursting through the door, stinking of liquor and stumbling towards them, a sneer twisting his face as John drops the cup from his shaking hands and it shatters to the floor. With a sigh, Laurens takes another sip at the tea. _Don’t think about that,_ he commands himself firmly. _Stay in the moment._

After all, in light of this morning, he knows precisely what happens when he lets his memories slip through into daylight. 

Thankfully, Martha returns soon, holding some bread and dried beef. “It’s all we’ve got,” she states apologetically as she hands him the small ration. “Lord knows we need to find a port soon, or we’re all going to perish of hunger on this ship.” John nods silently, though he doesn’t assent completely- they’ll still have fish; the only real problem is water, though he supposes the illnesses that stem from malnutrition are awful. He alternates robotically between the food and the tea, enjoying the way he becomes more comfortable against the gnawing in his stomach with every bite, and with every drink his throat becomes delightfully smoother. 

By the time he’s done eating, he’s completely drowsy from the exertion (lifting his hand to his mouth jostled his shoulder, because of course it had to be his dominant shoulder that was stabbed, of fucking course) and from the comfort of being well-fed at last. 

“May I go back to my quarters for the night?” John asks hopefully, startling Martha from the companionable silence that had fallen over them both. She scrutinizes him carefully, looking him up and down, before nodding approvingly. 

“Alright, dear, but be sure to come back if you feel too much discomfort. I’m certain you’ll be safe anyway, though- Alexander’s got a good head on him.” 

Laurens holds back a huge sigh and a rant of complete, total dissent, instead opting to turn and exit as quickly as he can. Breaking into a run as soon as the door closes behind him, he dashes down the halls as fast as his arm will allow and flings open the door to his room. 

He’s met with Alexander Hamilton. 

John could _swear_ his captive’s face lights up, if only for a moment, but then it’s back to normal- eyebrows pulled down, jaw set, like the man’s ready to take him in a fight (no way in hell he could, anyway- maybe Alexander fought on the streets, but John’s been a pirate for years and fought on the streets _and_ had private lessons back when he was a rich kid in South Carolina with his ass of a father constantly- but that doesn’t matter, _that doesn’t matter)._

“Happy to see me, Hamilton?” He inquires, arching his eyebrow in the most superior way he can manage. 

“Maybe since you’re not spasming on a hospital bed and bleeding to death, yes, perhaps I am,” Alexander shoots back through gritted teeth without even looking up from whatever the hell he’s doing- scribbling something down in a journal he stole from John’s desk weeks ago, though he didn’t really mind all that much. 

For the moment, he can’t think of a good comeback or even a response, just huffs in frustration and says with a bit of tentative humor mixed in with his exasperation, “Look, sorry that I somehow managed to get myself stabbed through the shoulder, alright?” 

But it seems Hamilton isn’t in the mood for jokes. 

He looks up fast, and his eyes are smouldering with anger, and that’s when Laurens knows he’s made a mistake. 

“Alright, pirate, riddle me this: who exactly stayed up with you through the hell that was last night? Who cleaned out your wounds, tried to hold you down so you didn’t wind up fucking yourself up even more, stood there and let you scream at me? Who sat by your bedside and took abuse just because I didn’t want to see you suffer any more than you already had? Who struggled against your fever? Who tried _so goddamn_ hard to keep you alive even though I fucking _hate everything about you, even though you stole my fucking future and burned my life away along with the ship,_ just because no one else was going to? _Hell, did you even care?”_

The pirate stands stunned for a moment. “Alexander, I-” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Silence, but not the companionable one that he and Martha had fallen into. This one crackles with fury and static and unspoken words until someone succumbs under the very weight of it all. 

“I’m sorry. I- I’m so sorry.” Those are the only words Laurens can form; he doesn’t have the same eloquence as Alexander, the same explosive cunning in the face of tension. 

Hamilton sighs and leans his head back against the hammock they’ve strung up in the only free space the room has left to offer beside the desk and John’s own hammock. “I was scared, Laurens. You-” He falls silent, like even his lightning-fast mind cannot come up with the right things to say. 

Those are the last words that are spoken between the two men that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... hopefully that was nice.... 
> 
> And by the way, on the last chapter I was joking about the death, just so you know. 
> 
> ... 
> 
> OF COURSE I'D TAG IT HAHAHAA AHAH (apparently you're supposed to use humor in times of stress ahahhha you're welcome guys but yeah that shit is still happening lmao). 
> 
> I think I'll start up the Harry Potter AU thing once I hit 15 chapters on this one, just so I can really get things firmly off the ground (and with any luck I'll have transferred them to step two in the whole "enemies to friends to lovers" scheme thing). 
> 
> You have my apologies for my attraction towards rambling parentheticals and excessive italics usage. Really. I'm sorry. It's just become a part of my writing style, and I in equal parts love and despise it. 
> 
> Anyway... Leave me a comment! I'll endeavor to reply to it, and, of course, feel free to ask questions below (and I'm really bad at omitting spoilers, so read at your own risk). Kudos are also treasured! Thank you all so much!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare strikes, and time passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah... I didn't update... for a while... oops. 
> 
> What happened is, we traveled somewhere and I didn't have access to a computer. Super sorry! This chapter's a bit longer than usual for compensation. Enjoy!

_A dark room. The only light comes from the candlelit glow under the door, and even that is cut through with the moving shadows of feet. Furious words are exploding from behind that door, and they cut deep. Even the children huddled outside in the room beyond can tell that. They came when they heard the shouting, like they always do. The oldest of the children is the closest to the closed door, and his eyes are wide with fear. It’s different, this time, he can tell. He starts to turn, to tell the other children to go back to bed before things get... bad._

_And then the screaming starts._

_The younger children let out muted gasps and race back into their rooms, throwing covers over themselves, turning on their sides to face the wall, and breathing deeply, as if that will stop the wails of agony only a few rooms away, as if that will calm their small, beating hearts. But the eldest is crouched frozen, staring at the light under the door. Staring as it is cut off by a larger shadow. He knows it inherently: it is a body._

_He is unmoving as the door slowly creaks open. Still cannot make himself flee, even as every nerve in his body is shouting at him to run, run as fast as he can and never look back._

_His father gazes down at him and begins to shout furiously, arms raising into the air, hands clenching into fists. But all the child can see is the fresh, slick blood staining the man’s fingers._

xxx 

Alexander, once again, wakes up to quick, panicked breathing. 

Mostly out of instinct, he jolts upright, immediately turning his head and looking for Laurens. The other man is lying curled on the floor, eyes open but looking at nothing. In light of the events of the previous evening, Hamilton is inclined to just ignore the pirate- it would be easy enough to roll over and go back to sleep. But as much as he hates it, he can’t resist the pull of someone who is helpless. He knows that there is no such thing as a hero, and even if there was, he certainly isn’t the type who would be regarded as one, but he’s got a need-to-help-the-wounded complex the size of America itself. So, as annoyed as he is with himself when he jumps lightly from his hammock and crouches next to John, he’s also not surprised. 

“Are you alright?” Alexander murmurs quietly, hesitating before placing his hand on John’s unwounded shoulder and squeezing it softly. 

It takes the other man a moment to respond, and when he does, his voice is rough and raspy, like he’s been screaming all night. “I- nightmare. Nightmare.” Hamilton flinches involuntarily before shifting closer to John. 

“Tell me what happened,” he instructs calmly. The captive can feel Laurens shaking under his fingers, and his heart constricts- this poor man. It doesn’t matter how much Alexander may despise his very soul; he still can find the capacity to care. 

John lets out a choked sob and closes his eyes against the tears Hamilton can see welling within. “My father. He…” 

Alexander inhales sharply. He knows all about this sort of thing all too well. “What did he do?” 

Another muffled sob, before a deep breath. “I… he… he was never a good father. Even before he got started with drinking.” Pause. “Before he started beating us.” Hamilton nods slowly- he understands more than most about awful fathers. “It was about this night. My mother… my mother died when I was t-ten. That’s when things really got bad, he- he started getting worse and worse. Drinking even more than before, quicker to anger, quicker to fight. Opposed things that questioned his beliefs more as a senator, forced those same beliefs on me and my siblings just so that we wouldn’t be like our mother.” 

Suddenly Laurens looks up, tears escaping his eyes even as he furiously rubs at them, as if he could stop himself from falling into a moment of weakness. “It was him. He denied it, but we all knew. We knew it was him. They were fighting, that one certain night, and it got ugly. We were listening outside the door, like we always did, as though we could somehow prevent things from getting violent. But we were just kids. We ended up frozen. They were arguing about rights, or as we consider them, b-basic human rights. Mother always wanted them- he was conservative, she was not, she advocated for women’s rights, gay rights, you know. That sort of thing. I was like her, but I guess I didn’t really know it back then.” He lets out a broken little imitation of a laugh. “Maybe if I’d figured it out sooner, I could have saved her, or at least helped her. But I didn’t, and suddenly there was screaming and then nothing, and then my brothers and sisters all ran back to bed, where we should’ve all been. My father… he swung the door open and he just… s-stared at me for a moment. And then---” 

He stops, but Alexander understands once again. Laurens doesn’t continue, but then, he doesn’t need to. For a moment, Hamilton is frozen, but then he reluctantly pulls the pirate closer and rubs comforting circles into his back, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He can see the tears rolling down John’s freckled cheeks, hear the soft crying. 

“You’ll be okay,” he says in a hushed voice. “Don’t worry.” He’s lying, of course, but it’s mostly a matter of what John needs to hear than the truth they both wished was a lie.

After that, things are different between them. Not hugely. Nothing dramatic. And it takes weeks. But after a while, things do change, as they so often do. The captive and the pirate are not, however, at each other’s throats constantly (a development their friends are very pleased at). They do not hiss death threats at each other, or glare at the other man from across the room. They do not throw meals into chaos by arguing louder than they mean to from opposite sides of the table. This isn’t to say that they’re amicable, but they do, however, empathize with each other’s emotions. They do care. Granted, the two men are almost painfully neutral and calm towards each other after that morning, but this deliberate neutrality is more for the benefit of knowing that when they are in pain, they will have somebody at their side, even in the dead of the night. It’s more for the sake of preserving that bond. Of course, they still argue, but there’s significantly less aggression, especially considering it’s difficult to argue with someone whose views one, for the most part, actually agrees with. 

Their friends notice, naturally; it’d be impossible to miss such a transformation, even when it’s so small as compared to most changes in relationships. In fact, for a while, it’s a characteristic that initiates an honestly absurd amount of ribbing and not-so-sly winks, which, with incredulous faces, the men laugh off, then go back to being at each other’s throats, but slightly less angrily than they had before the change. After a while, their friends drop the suggestions, and after that they just ignore the increased passiveness of the (still dominant) aggressive aspect of Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens’s relationship.

Months fly by again. They seem to pass much more swiftly now, for reasons Alexander cannot explain, precisely. 

xxx 

Laurens squints into his spyglass, mouth twisted down into a grimace. They legitimately need to get to port, or they'll probably end up dying of a vague but probably deadly sea illness. On the horizon, he can see a fuzzy landmass, which he tries to look at more closely, but ends up nearly toppling headfirst out of the crow’s nest. He hisses out a curse and throws out an arm for balance, nearly whacking his hand on the mask. Alexander is perched next to him, legs swinging out over the long drop to the deck. 

“See anything?” he asks with a tiny grin as he watches John struggle for balance. 

The pirate sticks out his tongue at his captive. “Oh, shut up, Hamilton.” Alexander waits. “Okay, yes, there’s land. I’ve seen it.” 

Hamilton sighs in satisfaction, smirk spreading into a genuine smile. “Well, that’s something, hmm? Maybe I’ll actually get to walk on solid ground! Imagine that.” His voice is dry with sarcasm; he knows that John strongly advocated against him going ashore the other time they struck land, about five months after he was originally captured. 

“Oh, get over it, you moron. That was _once,”_ Laurens snaps, “and also it was, like, seven fucking months ago.” He raises his voice, ignoring Alexander’s tiny, indignant noise, and yells, “Land!” loud enough that Washington emerges from his quarters and peers around at the seemingly endless ocean. 

“A port has been sighted?” the captain calls up to John, who nods vigorously, partially so that Washington can see him, and partially because he was honestly just done with standing on swaying ground. It doesn’t matter, really, how much time he may or may not spend on the ocean for the remainder of his life; the land will always be his home, where the earth makes sense, even if he doesn’t. 

Washington gestures for him to tell Eliza, who’s finally up on her feet and working the tiller again, where to steer their ship. “Eliza! Turn-” he squints- “forty-five degrees to starboard. Give or take.” It had taken the young woman longer to heal than even John, which was strange, considering that it had just been a cut to the neck. Though he suspects that Angelica and Peggy has forced Martha to let her rest and recover longer, even when she was, in most’s opinion, completely healed. She nods cheerfully and shoves the steering mechanism in the needed direction.

A couple hours pass, with John yelling instructions from the crow’s nest to Eliza and arguing with Alexander in turn, who seemed to think he knew more about navigation than John did. Which is why, for the tenth time in as many minutes, he’s explaining with a fair bit of annoyance about the inaccuracy of the stars, while Alex glares at him. At this point, it’s pretty obvious the captive knows he’s wrong, but is only arguing to piss John off, and, as a matter of fact, it’s working.

_“Oh my God, Hamilton, how many fucking times do I have to tell you the North Star is the only one that doesn’t move? How many goddamn times?”_

Alexander scoffs, leaning back from where he’s seated on the edge of the nest. “Maybe when it starts making sense?” 

Laurens throws his arms up in the air. “THE EARTH SPINS, HAMILTON, AND SO DO OUR PUNY PERCEPTIONS OF THE HEAVENS! THE NORTH STAR IS THE ONLY ONE THAT STAYS THE SAME!” 

“You’re both idiots,” snaps a voice from below. It’s Reynolds, clinging to the mast with an annoyed look on her face. “Quit bickering and get down here. We’re having a meeting.” 

“We’re having a what?” Hamilton asks, poking at the woman’s shoulder with the toe of his boot. “Barbarians with no sense of culture or sophistication have meetings?” 

John heaves a sigh. “Please do not pull this bullshit right now, Hamilton; we’re a little busy. Also, don’t lie, you’ve been on plenty of raids at our level, and, unrelated subject, we’re plenty sophisticated.” 

“Maybe you are, rich boy,” Reynolds mutters and leaps down the mast. _Show-off,_ Laurens thinks, only half-serious, and follows, inching down the wood with Hamilton trailing above him. 

He hits the ground with a thud and walks over to where the rest of the crew stands. As per usual, Washington is explaining who will go out and collect food, who will cheat the men out late at the bars, who will collect water, who will stay behind. The captain always holds to the statement that these forays off the open ocean are strictly business. Nobody bothers to deny him, but it’s an absolute lie: the crew always ends up getting caught up in some ridiculous event, no matter what Washington says, and are never reprimanded, mainly because the captain is laughing too hard or was actually part of the event himself. 

Luckily, John gets to go out and get drunk at some bars, hopefully ending up with a sack full of gold to show for it. 

Unluckily, Alexander has the exact same assignment. 

“You lobbied for that, didn’t you?” Laurens hisses to the shorter man in annoyance. Hamilton shrugs, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. 

“Look, if you’re gonna get blackout drunk- and don’t lie, we all know you’re a lightweight, Laurens- you’re gonna need someone to watch your back so you don’t get your spine snapped by some guy you want to fight who happens to be thrice your size. A voice of reason. Someone who makes sure you don’t end up losing your money and your life, rather than one or the other.”

Normally, John would blow that kind of thing off, but it’s completely true. 

He lets out an angry sigh, running his fingers through his hair. “Fuck you, Hamilton,” he mumbles, but there’s no anger behind it. Alexander smirks and loops his arm around John’s. 

“Off we go, then!” 

xxx 

A couple hours later, all of his predictions have come true.

On one hand, Laurens has a burlap bag filled to the brim with gold he’d earned using cheap tricks to completely extort men at the bar (though, granted, Mulligan gave him some of his winnings from when he’d repeatedly cheated at card games. Somehow, none of his victims had noticed). On the other, Laurens is also drunk off his ass, and currently arguing with a man that dwarfs even Mulligan. 

They’d walked into their fifth bar of the night, John already staggering around with his knife drawn, words so slurred it takes all of Alexander’s effort just to understand him. Immediately, the pair had been met with the sight of a giant, burly man standing on top of a table and preaching to everyone who would listen about how the “fucking queers are ruining our country” and that “the government has the right idea with punishing us, just for voting on this shit to happen”. It had taken the 0.5 seconds that Laurens had needed to process the words before the man had leapt to his feet and began passionately yelling at the man about rights, what people did and didn’t deserve, and exactly where the man can stick his bigoted, outdated ideas. Well, slurring would be the right word for it, but the asshole seems to be getting the gist of it and is growing increasingly angry. 

“Laurens!” Alexander shouts from across the room where he sits with Mulligan. Hercules is watching John with a mix pure exhaustion and resignment. 

“Oh, just leave it, Hamilton.” 

“He’s gonna get his ass kicked.” 

“Yeah.” 

“He’s not gonna learn his lesson. This’ll mean absolutely nothing.” 

“True.” 

“Goddamnit!” The burly man has drawn back his fist and seems to be threatening Laurens, who glares up into his eyes, steadfast. Alexander races across the room just as the burly man’s clenched fist hits John’s chest, knocking him over. But in a second, Laurens is back on his feet, fire burning in his hazel eyes as he meets the other man’s gaze. The next thing anyone knows, they’re writhing back and forth on the ground, throwing punches and screaming insults at each other. “You idiot,” Hamilton growls, and throws himself into the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting harder and harder to write them as enemies, to be honest, because if I tried to drag it out, they wouldn't be adults with feelings, they'd be petulant, idiotic children, so. 
> 
> Anyway! Friendly reminder: I'll tag for Major Character Death soon. Because that shit's happening, and I figured I'd give you fair warning. Also: I mentioned, in my last fic, that I wanted to do a medieval AU. So, vote! It's either that or Harry Potter AU, and there are plenty of those. 
> 
> EDIT: Due to the all-caps screaming comments, I feel it's necessary to clarify that, no, I will not murder Alexander or John. That would be a shitty move on my part, especially considering that nothing is resolved between them at all.
> 
> Please, please, please, please, PLEASE leave me a comment! They truly do brighten up my day, and I'll endeavor to answer any questions you might have. Also, I don't edit, so corrections if they're needed would be nice before I embarrass myself again. Kudos are appreciated as well!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All in all, it's been a rough day, so John and Alexander feel perfectly entitled to a night out with their crewmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my friends!!!

Laurens isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing. All he can feel is adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire, and the fury burning somewhere deep in his stomach. His own fists connecting with flesh. Other fists, bigger fists, hitting him hard, enough to make him fly backward. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He’s relatively sure it’s a good reason. 

He wakes up, and it’s dawn. There’s this vague feeling he’s getting that time has passed, but he can’t really be sure. Time never felt real to him anyways. Light is streaming down onto his face, a pale golden ray of sun. John squirms and rolls over, flinching immediately- he’s wounded, definitely wounded. Faces hover over him. It takes him a moment for his exhausted, hungover brain to piece them together, connect them with names and memories and feelings, but he soon realizes it’s Mulligan, Hamilton (Hamilton is injured- black eye, bruised jaw, and that’s all he can see of him, but it’s probably worse), Angelica, Eliza, Reynolds, and even Lee, though Lee doesn’t look pleased to be there. 

“Hey,” he says, and the noise makes him wince. “Where’s Laf? And Peggy? And the Washingtons? Where am _I?”_

Alexander lets out a huge sigh and leans back. “Damn. How hard exactly were you hit on the head, Laurens?” John scowls and sits up. Winces again. 

“Hamilton, I don’t even know what happened, much less how hard I was hit,” Laurens states dully, closing his eyes against the annoyance he can feel radiating from his crewmates as if that’ll help anything. 

Mulligan sighs loudly from behind him. “You got drunk- which is ridiculous, considering you had three pints, maybe- and then you got in a fight with a guy three times your size, Alexander tried to save your ass, and then I’m pretty sure you got knocked unconscious, though it’s more likely you just passed out because you can’t hold your liquor for shit. And as for where everyone else is- how the hell do you not remember? They have to stay behind because they’re on ‘Wanted’ posters worldwide, you idiot.” 

“Oh,” John mumbles, and lies back down. “Can you guys not shout, maybe?” 

 

He sort of remembers now- himself yelling and then punching someone, Alexander racing up behind him to help, himself getting dragged away and then… nothing. How pathetic. 

“Did we at least get some money?” he asks weakly, still not opening his eyes. He hears a resounding, collective sigh from the rest of the crew, coupled with some annoyed affirmations. “Good.” 

Hamilton pulls him to his feet. “Come on, Laurens. We have to get back to the ship. We need to go to the next port over; we’ve already taken care of this one, already scammed all the regulars. They’ll recognize us if we go back.” 

Tearing his arm away, John retaliates, “I’m not an idiot, Hamilton; leave me alone. I’ve been doing this far longer than you have.” Alexander rolls his eyes and ignores him, muttering something under his breath about misplaced superiority, but he still lets John lean on him on the way back to the ship, and maybe what Laurens says never really mattered anyway.

He now feels even more like an idiot, because obviously Peggy, Lafayette, and the Washingtons aren’t here. Peggy is infamous for looting and blowing up ships (the crew is ninety-nine percent sure that they sometimes go off on their own just to blow shit up and steal random things from enemy vessels). Lafayette is practically royalty (they’re the kid of some high-ranking French nobles, and while they loved their family, they still wanted the damn revolution so they joined the pirate crew), so for some reason, most of the ‘wanted’ posters focus up around them, maybe because they’re a rallying face of the revolution for Europe. Everyone knows about Lafayette. Then there are the Washingtons- Martha can pass in public for an old lady running errands, but if any of the crew is at her side she’s immediately recognized, which they know from experience. And, well, as for the captain- it’s just obvious. Either way, them going out in public is not recommended, just for general safety reasons. 

“So, you really did try to save me?” John murmurs to Alexander, trying to fill the silence between the pirates as they trek back to the ship. He can still sense the annoyance that his crew feels towards him; a weight of guilt settles in his chest as he realizes they probably had to leave their posts for him, alerted to their crazy, reckless fool of a crewmate getting his ass kicked by some mindless hench in a bar. 

Hamilton grimaces. “Operative word here being try, in this situation. Honestly, Laurens, did you even see that guy? He made Mulligan look undersized.” 

John coughs awkwardly (he’s embarrassed about the events of the previous night, but at the same time, he really couldn’t care less) and looks away. “Well, I’ve always been useless at choosing a fight I can win.” His captive smirks over at him and simply nods. Laurens supposes Alexander isn’t much his captive anymore. Not his friend, either. Not his anything, really. Maybe a roommate, if you wanted to get specific. His crewmate, certainly. And, maybe, someone who cares enough about him enough to throw himself into a losing battle. 

xxx 

That day, they’re all cooped up together on the boat as they navigate to the next port, a bit farther north, to South Carolina. Alexander can see Laurens getting progressively more jittery and irritable the closer they get to the colony. Though he elects not to mention it, he does, however, pick more fights with the other man that day, both for his own amusement and just because he can’t stand John pacing around their room aggressively, glaring at the ground and muttering. The two men lounge in their quarters, Laurens being wounded and Alexander, for some reason, now being his designated caretaker (how the hell did that happen? He can hardly take care of himself half the time, but then, neither can John, so it fits, in a weird way, he supposes). 

They continue to bicker throughout the day. Hamilton spends most of the time hunched over his desk, and John just keeps on pacing, back and forth, back and forth. It’s the worst at sunset; Laurens starts yelling at him in agitation, and Alexander is starting to get more concerned with each new outburst, for once not rising to the bait of a fight.

“Laurens,” he says before he can stop himself, and John pauses in whatever rant he’d been halfway through at that moment.

“What?” his crewmate half-growls, eyes cast downwards. _Do you even know what you’re doing right now?_ It looks more like Laurens has retreated somewhere into his mind. _Almost like he’s hiding from something,_ Hamilton thinks, brow creasing. 

“Are you okay? I mean, you seem…” he laughs involuntarily before clamping his mouth shut when he sees John’s stony face. “... a little tense. You could say.”

The pirate shakes his head and flops back down into his hammock again, back turned to him. “I’m fine.” 

Alexander rolls his eyes and sighs obnoxiously loud, but doesn’t push it. “Okay, Laurens. I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, you want to get a drink later? Not to steal money from the idiots hanging around the bars. But, you know, to get drunk. This time, though, try not to fight whatever bigoted ass that comes near you.” Laurens snorts and flips over so they’re facing each other again, but says nothing for a while. 

Finally, though: “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Hamilton snickers and leans back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk and moving papers out of his way with the heel of his boot. “Good.” 

The rest of the day is, thankfully, spent in companionable silence. 

Later that night, they meet the others up on deck. The Washingtons had gone out into the market earlier that day, just to stretch their legs, though they’d worn hooded cloaks and possibly looked more than a little like warlock impersonators. Luckily, there was no trouble. Angelica and Eliza arrive on deck looking more than a little shifty, though, so that’s probably not a standing guarantee. Soon enough, however, Lafayette and Peggy emerge from belowdecks, shooting suspicious looks back and forth, and Alexander knows that there probably will, in fact, be trouble on this night. 

“We’re taking them?” Reynolds inquires, but she doesn’t seem too concerned. 

Angelica shrugs. “It seems so. And hey, who are we to defy royalty, and of course, the all-controlling force of nature known as Peggy Schuyler?” 

“They got bored,” Eliza whispers with a grin, “and we were all too happy to accommodate them. There’s nothing more fun than a night out on the town, right?” Reynolds relaxes almost imperceptibly and nods, sighing loudly. 

And with that settled, they slip off of the vessel, racing down the boardwalk with light steps and quiet laughter. The town is loud tonight- there seems to be some sort of festival going on downtown. Lanterns line the sides of the streets, and there’s the ringing noise of distant cheering from far, far away. No one is all too worried with the fact that they’re all fugitives; Alexander guesses that they’d be used to it at this point, most of all Peggy and Lafayette. According to some whispers from John, the two most wanted people in America or otherwise actually do this a lot, though not in the presence of their crewmates. 

The night is a blur of laughter, bright lights, loud footsteps, and the bitter taste of alcohol. The pirates run through the town, joking and shoving at each other as inhibitions are raised by simply the heat of the moment, though the thrill of darting through dark alleys at the side of people you truly trust. At the end of it all, they’re huddled together, in the throes of hysterical laughter from a joke none of them really remember, in a clump as they walk around the boardwalk, making sure to stay far out of sight of _The Mutineer._ Alexander has his arm slung around Lafayette and Mulligan, though they’re far taller than he is, so he’s actually hovering a couple inches off the ground. Maybe that’s what they’re laughing about (it’s sure as hell what _he’s_ laughing at. When the hell did he get so short?). He doesn’t really know anymore. 

Suddenly- 

_“Hey!”_ comes a shout. The voice is deep and gravelly and angry. _“Is that-”_

The group falls silent as they process the words. Lafayette and Mulligan drop Alexander and take off running for their ship, the rest of the group following as quickly as they can. The light mood fell away, dissipating like mist under the morning sun as they dash, elation replaced by terror as their boots thud against the wooden docks. 

Gunshots ring through the dawn. The sun has not risen yet, and they’re already running, a sinking feeling in the pits of their stomachs. Behind Alexander, the noise of the pursuers is growing louder and louder by the second. The ship is still so far- 

“Duck!” someone yells, and Hamilton dives sideways into the freezing cold water of the sea, bullets whizzing past his ears. The frigidness hits him like a wall, and he gasps with the shock of it as his limbs freeze up, inhaling the icy cold liquid and coughing furiously underwater. It takes all of his strength to move his arms and then his legs, his heavy clothing weighing him down as he tries frantically to resurface. It’s calm, down here. Quiet. Serene. It would be easy, so easy, to just let his limbs lock up, let himself sink down to the bottom. What is Alexander Hamilton even fighting for now, anyway? A life with a group of scoundrels and thieves whose only goals in life are to spark a revolution? What kind of life is he living, then? Where is his future, the one that shines with the promise of a golden legacy, children hearing his name for years to come? Where is his perfect life? _That went up in flames a year ago, Hamilton,_ a voice says with uncharacteristic softness from somewhere deep in his head. The words echo in his mind, and his legs begin to move. He is sure he recognizes that voice, though he is not sure from where, All that matters, though, is that he is no longer sinking. _I will never let myself fall again,_ he tells himself, and, just for a moment, he believes it. 

Finally, Alexander’s head breaks the now writhing surface of the ocean. He’s hemmed in on all sides with other vessels, other boats, none of them his own. The pursuers- he presumes they’re the law enforcement of this godforsaken place, but he can’t be sure- have moved on, their shouts now distant in the clear morning air.

Gasping for air, trying to drive the water from his lungs and the light-headedness from his mind, he windmills his arms madly, and that’s when he remembers he doesn’t know how to swim. 

xxx 

_Where the hell is Hamilton?_ Laurens thinks a little desperately, as he draws his knife. It was the only weapon he thought to take with him. He feels foolish now more than ever- he’s a pirate; he should have had a sword at the very least on hand, though it would, perhaps seem strange to be carrying a massive blade around with him in a pub. 

The clashing of metal rings in the air around him, and the pirates of _The Mutineer_ are fighting for their lives in the hulking shadow of their ship. From somewhere behind him, George Washington leaps to the ground. The captain asks no questions, thankfully, just throws himself immediately into the fight. They shouldn’t be fighting this battle, he knows; they should be just awakening from where they lay in their hammocks before setting off. No one was supposed to leave the ship that night except for Mulligan and Reynolds, and even for them, only briefly. 

John shakes himself out of his daze and jumps forward, small blade raised high in the air as he searches for an opponent. Luckily, he doesn’t have to look far- a policeman throws himself into his path, and, with a shout, slams into him, knocking him to the ground. Next to him lies a body, blood leaking slowly from a wound in their chest. Another policeman. Laurens twists sideways, parrying the living policeman’s strike, and rolls from his grip, jabbing upwards and skewering the man through the throat. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he pulls the dagger from the man’s neck and lets him drop to the ground. I’m a murderer, he thinks, then laughs because that’s nothing new. He’s lost count of the people he’s taken the life from. He’s been a murderer for a long time, now. 

Laurens looks around, eyes mere slits as he surveys the battlefield. Blood is pooling on the wooden slats that make up the dock, and pirates and policemen alike slip on it even as the slippery red liquid drips through the cracks in the wood. Angelica kicks a man off the side of the deck and jumps onto the ship, motioning for others to follow. Of course- they’d primed _The Mutineer_ to sail away immediately if need be the second they’d docked. John lets out a sigh of relief, but... _We’re losing,_ he realizes as he takes another glance at the scene, and races forward to fight. Lafayette is taking on two men at once, their blades flashing almost too quickly to see, and Reynolds is dueling four, and while she’s a formidable warrior, she has no chance against so many. Eliza and Mulligan fight side by side against four, Washington takes one, and Peggy… 

_Where’s Peggy?_

He whips around at the sound of blades colliding next to his ear, and instinctively pulls out his dripping blade. The youngest Schuyler is battling against a man twice their size and skill, ducking and dodging smoothly, but even John can see the sweat trailing down their temple as they flick their sword out, slashing a thin cut down the man’s side. They’ve never been a warrior; they’re a spy, a pyromaniac, a seasoned thief, but they are not a fighter. Laurens throws himself forward, stabbing into their opponent’s side, but the man twists around and punches him hard enough to send him reeling backward. Blackness encroaches on his vision as he falls backward, and as his head drops over the side of the dock, he sees a face below him. _Hamilton?_ For a moment, Laurens, is frozen in shock, and in that moment, there is a scream of pain. 

He lurches to his feet and staggers over, stars bursting in front of his eyes, just in time to see Peggy hit the ground, falling hard on their back, eyes as empty as the cloudless sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [laughs awkwardly] you saw that coming, right? 
> 
> PLEASE DON'T KILL ME 
> 
> By the way, I'm relatively sure I'm the only person to kill Peggy in a Lams fic! I'm unique!!! (I'm also very sorry)
> 
> also I'm not going to be updating for a couple of days because I'm going on a trip. I'm very, very sorry. Please continue to vote, and, naturally comment and kudos if you're feeling kind and benevolent, or angry and murderous, or incredibly sad, or numb, or just feeling existence! Thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not sure if they can push through what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and I'm back from the trip! Please enjoy this chapter!

_Moments Earlier_

In retrospect, Alexander probably should have known how to swim, considering where he grew up. 

But he doesn’t, so instead he gasps all the air he can into his aching lungs, and dives back down underwater. He looks around wildly; his heavy clothing is already starting to drag him down into the depths of the harbor, and hell if he’s going to die like some sort of dock rat. Alexander kicks furiously, trying to remember the shards of memory he’s retained from his childhood, back when his mother forced him to learn how to swim, just for safety reasons, because they lived on an island, and if a kid doesn’t know how to swim that kid’s gonna die. Those memories have saved him once, in a hurricane, and damn it, they’re going to save him again. It takes him a while, but soon he’s gracefully soaring through the water. The action requires nearly all of his willpower as he reminds himself not to panic, that he is in control. Even from underneath the water, though, he can hear the shouts and the footsteps and clanging of metal above him on the docks. _I need to get up there,_ Hamilton thinks desperately, wildly kicking up towards the surface and windmilling his arms. He’s deeper down than he could have predicted, dark water giving way to light around him, but he still can’t shake the feeling that he’s too late. 

Above him, there’s a crash, and suddenly John Laurens is falling half off of the dock, his hair brushing cold, clear water. 

Their eyes meet, and Alexander watches, helpless, as John mouths, Hamilton? but then there’s a scream that even the submerged man can hear, and then Laurens leaps to his feet and rushes out of sight. Horror curls somewhere deep in Hamilton’s chest, and he puts all his strength into making it to the surface. He heaves in air and chokes out water, but again he’s got that feeling: _too late, too late, too late, always too late-_

A body crumples to the deck, and a scream splits the air. 

For a moment, he stares at Peggy’s limp form curled on the wooden dock, at the blood spilling languidly from a stab wound straight through their heart. He looks but doesn’t see it, or refuses to see it. He’s not sure which. Another body lands beside them: their murderer, struck down by Eliza (it was her who screamed. Everyone else was frozen). From across the rickety boardwalk, Alexander’s and John’s eyes meet, and the world seems to slow to a stop. 

And then movement explodes once again. 

Angelica jumps down from the ship where she had been perched, face twisted into blind fury; Lafayette lets out a shriek of rage and runs the nearest policeman through with their sword; Mulligan throws another into the water; Eliza runs to the body of her sibling, Alexander and Laurens right behind her, and everyone else charges back into battle. 

 

Where Hamilton stands, though, all he can see is the bleeding form of Peggy. 

xxx 

Laurens had thought they were dead when they hit the ground. If the world had been merciful, perhaps they would have been. 

Their eyes are blank as they stare up at the sky, yet John can hear the breath rattling in their lungs, and blood trickles from their mouth, even as they lie, immobile, on the dock. 

“I can’t believe this is how I’m going,” Peggy rasps out, a flicker of a smile curling their lips before disappearing as a wave of pain hits them. Alexander shakes his head, wordlessly for once, and places his hand over their wound as if to shove the blood back into their body. 

Eliza tightens her grip on her younger sibling’s wrist, eyes shining with unshed tears. “No. No, you can’t leave like this, Peggy, this is not- it’s not-” She ducks her head, choking back a sob. Laurens just watches, numb. There is nothing he can do. He’s completely powerless to save his friend, and it twists at him, a knife stabbed deep into his gut. _We are powerless. All of us._ Around him, he’s distantly aware of the law enforcement- what’s left of it, at least- retreating, the rest of the crew gathering around silently. Peggy’s eyes are fixed on the sky, and their mouth is moving, gasping like they’re trying to say something, but can’t. Blood slips slowly down their cheek, stains their clothes. It is on all of the crew’s hands, and they are not sure they will ever truly be clean from it again.

When the life leaves their body, they are all aware of it. 

Their eyes glaze over, and the tiniest sigh comes from their mouth, almost relieved, like they’ve found rest at last after a life of running, of fleeing from something that can never be escaped. _And perhaps,_ Laurens thinks, _they’re the lucky one._ He watches, unable to move, as Martha, murmuring comforting nothings to the remaining Schuylers, picks up Peggy’s body and carries it aboard. They’re so small in death, without the fire that seemed to light up their body and burned in the way they spoke and laughed and danced and sang and sailed and teased and lived. As if the sword that ran them through was water, and they were the spark, burned so brightly, doused so easily. 

John stays like that, crouched alone on the dock, staring off into space. His roommate stays with him, watching that same distant point on the horizon, tears trickling down his pale, empty face. After a time that could have been years or seconds, Laurens turns to him, stares into those dark, endless eyes. 

“I should have saved them,” he says, voice cracking, though the tears don’t fall, not yet. 

Alexander nods, face unchanging. “You should have. We all should have. But we just stood there. _Inútil._ Useless.” Laurens isn’t sure what to say to that, so he lets silence fall once again.

Later, someone comes to get them, speaks to them in soft tones, lifts them to their feet and leads them to the ship. By then, it is afternoon, and the docks are filled with sailors and merchants, talking and laughing, not noticing the blood pooled beneath their feet, nor the two pirates sitting stiff as boards and looking at nothing. They strike out from South Carolina, and John watches the land disappear from a looming mass to a smudge on the horizon to nothing at all. He feels a pang of vindictive happiness when he looks back and sees the total lack of earth in his sight, which is gone as quickly as it appears. 

Washington lets them lay low that day, not even reprimanding them for going out without permission the previous night; the guilt weighs heavily enough on them without his intervention. They are all far too aware of the fact that if they had just stayed aboard, Peggy would be giggling at a joke Alexander had told at the prow of the vessel, or teasing John for something stupid he’d said last night, or training with Angelica, or bickering playfully with Maria, or hissing insults at Lee. But they’re not. And it’s their fault. 

It’s sunset when Martha Washington calls them all up abovedecks from where they’d been lurking, motionless. Not a single one of them had even uttered a word since the dawn; it practically hurt to breathe. Laurens climbs down from the crow’s nest where he’d stood alone for the majority of the day. He had been watching the sky; perhaps he would have seen what Peggy had been looking at when their heart beat for the last time. Perhaps he wanted his own heart to do the same. 

The pirates gathered together in a loose half-circle around the bow of the ship, trying to look somewhere other than the body wrapped in a canvas shroud at their feet but, ultimately, failing. John stands next to the Schuylers that remain, Alexander on his other side as they stare, still at a loss for words, at the body, pointedly focusing on the hidden face rather than the prominent bloodstain that had seeped through the rough, thick cloth. None of them are sure exactly what to do. 

“We should say something,” Hamilton states from John’s right, voice shaking and raw from a combination lack of use and tears that had been shed earlier. 

Washington shakes his head. “That isn’t how things are done. We say a prayer, and we release them to the sea. We move on, son. We are pirates. They died for a cause, a cause we all believe in, and they are gone, and we accept that.” His heart isn’t in it, though; they all know that the captain considered Peggy as one of his children, and he is just as broken as the rest of them are over… what happened to them. 

Eliza takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Angelica does the same. They make a speech together, about the sisterly love and the incredible beauty of that unbreakable bond, words tumbling together and cracking under the strain of the loss, and at the end, the captain doesn’t reprimand them, just sighs softly, eyes focused on Peggy’s unmoving face. It’s unnatural, seeing them like this, pale and still and placid, face still twisted up with the vestiges of pain. The two sisters lean together, tears rolling down their cheeks and their arms around each other’s shoulders, a single entity of loss and the fear of not knowing what to do next; they have become a four-eyed creature of pain and there is nothing anyone can do. 

Alexander steps forward and begins to speak, eyes closed against the tears he would surely be shedding otherwise. “I did not know Peggy well,” he begins. “In fact, I knew them for only a year, for the whole year I have been on this ship. I did not come, as you all know, on the best of terms: I was cast onto this deck in a mess of flames and blood, my future stolen from me. But Peggy Schuyler- they saved me. They made me better. They helped me learn to laugh at the smallest things, at other people, and most of all, at myself. They, too, carried a fire somewhere deep inside them, but it was different than the one that claimed the trade ship I had been traveling on. This fire was, of course, burning, heated, and sometimes even terrifying, but it was beautiful. It was not malevolent. Peggy built me up from the charred ruins that had once been who I was. And they are gone now. It is our fault, all our faults. We may move on, but not completely. There is no way we could forget Peggy Schuyler.” His voice breaks on the final two words, and he steps back into his place. John squeezes his eyes shut, blinking away tears, and loops an arm around Alexander. He finds that he cannot think of a single thing to say, and even if he could, he would be too choked up to utter it. So instead, he pulls Hamilton closer to him, and lets the other man sob openly into his jacket. Somewhere else, somewhere far away from where he is now, Washington murmurs a prayer, something about moving on and the sea carrying a body to a place where the sun always shines, and lowers the body of one of his closest friends into the roiling ocean. 

Laurens watches them disappear beneath the waves through blurred eyes before burying his head in the hair of the man who is not quite his friend and, finally, letting tears escape half-closed eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have put "angst" in the tags of this... oops. I! Am! Sorry! 
> 
> Clarification: Alex sort of knows how to swim. Not really. He's kind of scared of massive bodies of water/storms, though, so seriously why is this man even a pirate?
> 
> Please leave me a comment, and tell me how you feel! Kudos (kudoses? kudi?) are also really appreciated! Thank you all so much for your unending support towards this fanfiction; I love you all for this. Hopefully you really liked (or at least enjoyed the pain of) this chapter. 
> 
> So, until next time, readers. Until next time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pirates need to move on. They're not sure how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight let's just do this. Enjoy!!!

Alexander awakens, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his shared room. From beside him, he can hear the soft snores of Laurens a couple of feet away. The noise is comforting, now, a constant in a world that has always been an ever-shifting variable. He’s found his constant, he realizes dully. He just hadn’t expected it would take a kidnapping and far too many deaths. 

He awakens, and he wishes for a moment that all of this hadn’t happened, that all of this would just be a dream, if only Peggy Schuyler still lived and breathed and laughed. Even if he never met them. 

It’s been a long week on _The Mutineer_ after what happened to their youngest crewmate. The officers (Martha, Washington, and Lee. Reynolds should be doing something, but...) end up doing most of the jobs; everyone else is too deeply entrenched in mourning and guilt to complete even the most simple of tasks. Mulligan, of course, still cooks, or they’d all probably be dead. But Reynolds, who was one of Peggy’s closest friends, and Angelica and Eliza, their sisters, stay shut in the now too-large room they’d shared together. The rest of the crew push their meals in under the door, and dare not disturb them. Lafayette has taken shelter in the kitchen with Mulligan, and rarely leaves his side. They are too afraid to lose the man they so obviously love (well, obvious to the rest of the pirates, maybe. The two themselves seem completely unaware). Laurens rarely comes down from the crow’s nest, these days. He wakes up just after the dawn, scales the mast, and perches there like a lonely hawk, watching the horizon, deep in thought. And Alexander… Alexander isn’t sure what to do with himself. He cannot abide the apathy of mourning, so instead he wanders the ship, sometimes climbing to the crow’s nest to bicker with John just to pass the time, sometimes drinking with Lafayette and Hercules, sometimes just staring at the papers on the desk he shares with his roommate, looking at but not really seeing the words scattered across the parchment. 

In short, the group of pirates is crumbling from the inside, because, as strange as it seems, they have lost their foundation with the death of the youngest, constantly forgotten Schuyler sibling. 

With a sigh, he rolls off of his hammock and quietly slips out of his room. As he does every day, he walks through the halls of belowdecks, eventually finding the Schuyler/Reynolds quarters. Muffled, choked talking is coming from within, and Alexander hesitates by the door, afraid to interrupt anything. Nevertheless, he knocks, the sound reverberating through the ship. The talking stops suddenly, replaced by rapid footsteps and the opening door. 

Hamilton looks up at Angelica. She’s changed so much after a meager seven days of loss. The woman, once so formidable, is thin, and though she towers over Alexander, she seems so much smaller. Angelica practically deflates once she sees him, waving an arm defeatedly to beckon him into their room. It’s cramped between the three women, yet it seems so much more empty now, like the air has been sucked out of the small cabin. 

“What do you want?” Reynolds asks tiredly. She’s leaning against Eliza, as though she needs the smaller woman’s support just to stay upright. Both have tear-stained faces and reddened eyes. 

Alexander fidgets, trying to look anywhere but the fourth hammock in the room, which gathers dust in a corner. “I was worried about the three of you,” he says, voice soft. “I am sorry, I shouldn’t’ve come-” 

Eliza shakes her head. “It’s alright, Alexander.” She doesn’t offer anything beyond that. All of them are too emotionally exhausted to properly articulate their thoughts, and they mutually understand that. So instead they sit silently, or, in Hamilton’s case, stand silently, looking at each other. They are silent because they can’t think of what to say. They are silent because even if they did, it wouldn’t feel right to talk anyway. Not when there should be someone else talking with them. 

Somewhere above them, a deep, booming voice rings out, calling them all to the upper deck: “Depart your quarters! It is time!” Washington. Alexander and the women look up towards the ceiling, faces matching pictures of confused surprise. The captain hasn’t demanded them do anything for the whole of the week; the loss had hit him just as hard as anyone else. Murmurs start up in the bowels of the ship as the pirates stir from their perfect portraits of grief and climb up into the clear, fresh air. 

Lee is the first to speak. “What do you want, sir?” he inquires, respect barely masking the scorn dripping from his words as he surveys the crew. Patiently, Washington waits for Lafayette to pull their long, lanky body abovedecks before responding. 

“A ship has been sighted.” 

The mutters come back, looks are exchanged. It’s pathetic; they know it; but no one except Lee feels like pulling off a raid of any sort. Not without a certain crewmate flashing them a grin and scuttling down below, thieving and setting random things on fire. The captain nods in acceptance, and waits for the disgruntled murmurs to die out. 

“I know how you feel about this, I truly do. But we have a cause. And this ship is from the ragtag Americans- ambassadors. Senators. High-ranking people. They’re traveling out to Europe, God knows why. That place is just as much as a hellhole, but with more laws.” That, at least, coaxes a snicker from the pirates. “Do you have any idea how much this could be worth? How many treasures this ship may carry? How many valuable bargain pieces are aboard that vessel?” He points towards the boat growing ever closer. 

Alexander leans over to John, who is standing silently next to him, brows furrowed. “Wait a moment. Has anyone got the faintest idea why they’re sailing for the nearest beat-up, ancient disaster of a barge named _The Mutineer_ of all things?” Laurens glances down at him and shrugs, letting out a long sigh. 

“No, Hamilton. Not a single clue. I’m not in a mood for a fight, though. For once.” He flashes the shorter man a tiny, weary smile. Hamilton grins in spite of himself in response, and the movement feels strange to him. He realizes, in that moment, that he hasn’t smiled even once in this last week. The pirate voices the thought to his captor, who nods thoughtfully and says, “Guess we haven’t had much of a reason to.” 

xxx 

Laurens isn’t quite sure what to feel about this scheme. 

He’s obviously aware of the fact that this could very well be the biggest break this ship has ever had. And, granted, the prospect of having a success for once is definitely intoxicating, maybe making a step towards actually sparking the revolution they so desperately need. These pirates have strayed far from their original path, and they all know it: their end goal was to free the world of the powerful people that hold them in an iron grip and are, slowly but inexorably, dragging them into a world of laws that make them so much worse and enforcement that brings nothing but pain. A world of far too many people curled, dying, on the street, and no one to help them, and more, unimaginably awful things. 

On the other hand, however, none of them are fit for a fight. Lafayette is slumped against Hercules, eyes half-closed and still reddened from too much crying. The larger man, however, seems to be using them for support. Reynolds and the (now down to two, John reminds himself with a twisting heart) Schuylers haven’t emerged from their shared room until this very day. The Washingtons look subdued, and even Lee looks at least a little remorseful. Alexander looks… hollowed out. Like a part of him was scraped away and thrown into the sea. There are bags under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping, or if he has, has gotten no rest, and even now he leans drunkenly against Laurens, like he’s not even aware of it. And as for John, he’s not sure how he is. He feels as if something vital has been taken from him, and he’s not sure who to steal it back from. He’s been drawing endlessly, trying to use images of Peggy just so that they won’t be gone for the world the way they so obviously are, like the way that Hamilton wakes sometimes in the middle of the night and scribbles down words, trying to capture their light and put in a cage somewhere. Trying to make them stay when they’ve already departed. So, in summary, no one was really in the ideal position to pick up a sword and attack a probably heavily armed government vessel. 

“We’ll start by firing the cannon at them,” Washington says irritably, cutting into their thoughts. “Honestly, did you think we’d just hop aboard? We’ll wait till they’re panicking.” That makes most of the crew relax, though they still have that dazed look on their faces, like they’ve been jostled from a nightmare. “John!” the captain shouts, startling him. “Get up to the crow’s nest with Alexander. Analyze the ship. You’ve got the best eyes on this thing. Use the spyglass if you have to.” For once, he doesn’t question why Hamilton has to come along, just scales the mast as quickly as he can, the other man scurrying up behind him. 

He throws himself into the perch, Alexander tumbling in afterwards and landing half on top of him. “Get off me!” John snaps, shoving the shorter man away, but for the first time in a week, he grins and means it, too. 

Hamilton leaps to his feet and tosses the spyglass to him, a half-smile on his face. “What do you see?” Below the two men, Washington is giving orders to the rest of the crew, who are, begrudgingly, racing to their stations. Reynolds has been delegated to pyromaniac, Laurens notes to himself, a pang of grief hitting him briefly. Lifting the spyglass to his eye, he surveys the roiling waves, searching methodically for the ship. Behind him, he can hear Alexander tapping his fingers against the brim of the crow’s nest anxiously; he can practically feel the other man’s brow creasing. 

“Alright, fine, what is it, Hamilton?” he asks sharply without looking away. The pirate huffs and elbows him, but there’s no rage behind the action. 

“I don’t want someone else to die.” 

Laurens closes his eyes briefly in equal measures of exasperation and understanding, then, snapping them open again, he turns and leans against the brim of the nest. “Hamilton. Look at me.” The shorter man scowls and raises his dark eyes to meet John’s. “We’re pirates. Tough as nails, probably tougher, honestly. What happened to… them… that was an anomaly. It just doesn’t happen. They fought against someone far stronger than they were, they were hungover and tired and caught off guard. It’s not going to happen. I’m strong, you’re strong, they’re all strong. We’re going to be alright.” 

Alexander sighs in defeat and leans against him for a moment. “...I know.” 

“Good.” He turns back to the sea, raising the glass to his eye again and spotting the ship almost immediately. “There it is. Definitely government. Someone is wearing something ridiculous flashy, and even from here I can see the gold. They’re armed. This is going to be difficult. Some people high up on the hierarchy, but not the leader. Alright. Alright. We can do this.” Hamilton nods tightly, and together they climb back down to the deck. Laurens pulls in a deep breath. 

He hopes they’re as strong as he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....hopefully that was okay. At least John and Alex are starting to get closer though amirite??? Even if they aren't QUITE yet friends and the crew is collapsing. 
> 
> (hell yeah I put in a "Lost" reference because I still love that show honestly. If you found it congrats!) 
> 
> Anyhow. Drop me a comment! I really do appreciate your feedback and kind words; thank you all so much!
> 
> EDIT: S HIT I JUST REMEMBERED THAT LIN, LESLIE, PIPPA, AND ARIANA ARE LEAVING TODAY AND I'M NOT ALRIGHT I LOVE THEM ALL GOOD LUCK GUYS!!!!! *curls up into a ball and sobs while choking out the chorus of One Last Time*


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's a wonder that either of these idiots even survived till adulthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's another chapter! That's right! 
> 
> So, it's come to my attention that I've got a couple unfinished works, or works that could be identified as unfinished. And this constantly angsty/serious fic is kind of grating on me a bit, making me long for the simpler times in which all my works were fluffy a majority of the time. All this to say, which unfinished/possibly unfinished works would you like me to update just so that my mind can stop being so angsty and pirate-y? Keep it in mind if you like! 
> 
> Anyway... Enjoy this, I guess!

Dutifully, Alexander stands next to John as the taller man gives a report on who and what he saw aboard the ship to the officers. Every once in a while, he nods affirmatively towards whatever statement Laurens had said, but really, he’s pretty sure that in this situation he’s completely irrelevant except as eye candy. He makes his former captor look taller, more important. So, really, more like an amplifier. For once, though, he’s okay with not being in the spotlight seeing as he has no clue regarding how to use a spyglass, or, for that matter, truly utilize any powers of observation he may actually possess. _I should get Laurens to teach me,_ Hamilton thinks to himself, making a mental note to ask next time around. Anything to know as much as John about something (to seem equal, if nothing else. He feels he’s as good as or better than most everyone else, but dammit, Laurens makes him feel… less, somehow. He doesn’t feel bad about it, per se, but it’s infuriating to have an enemy-friend-acquaintance who’s just so much _better_ than he). 

“Alright. Thank you, Laurens; we’ll begin in a couple of minutes. For now, prepare with Hamilton. You’re dismissed.” Washington’s command snaps him abruptly from his thoughts. He nods quickly and jogs away to the side of the ship, peering towards what was apparently a government vessel. 

Laurens appears behind him. “Are you going to be alright, Hamilton?” he asks softly. It takes a moment for Alexander to understand that he’s referencing their previous conversation, and he flushes in embarrassment. 

“Oh, shut it, Laurens. I’ll be fine,” the shorter man snaps. He gives John a (probably unconvincing) smile anyway, and the pirate sighs loudly, rolling his eyes. 

“Okay, okay, just thought I’d check,” John grumbles, eyes fixed on the rapidly approaching ship. They stand next to each other in awkward silence as it gets closer, never shifting their gaze. Behind them, they can hear the bustle of their other crewmates preparing, but soon, they’re all gathered in the same spot, watching the advancing vessel, except for Reynolds, who scales the mast in a matter of seconds and changes the flag from a neutral American banner to the distinctive symbol of The Mutineer: A simplistic red sword skewering a white crown with a black background that has, quite distinctly, blood-red drops dripping through it. The pirates take a certain pleasure from the gasps that can be heard from the enemy ship, even at such a distance. They try to change direction, but it’s a large boat with limited maneuverability, and the pirates are already swarming aboard into battle. 

John splits away from the rest of the group immediately, headed straight for belowdecks with Reynolds at his side. Mulligan and Lafayette race for the more valuable people, the ones wearing gaudy clothes, the ones who look like they’ve never fought a day in their life as the Schuylers that remain canvass the ship looking for any hidden people who may hold even more worth. The rest- well, the rest charge into the fight. Alexander lands on the deck with a thud of boots, sword flashing in the afternoon light as he draws it and charges for one of the armed bodyguards, who is only just now taking his own weapon from its scabbard. The pirates grins and swings hard, the kind of blow that would slash someone in half at the waist, but the hench is quicker than expected and brings up his sword to parry it away with a clash of metal on metal. Screams are erupting from around the ship, both of terror and anger, and usually this would distract Hamilton, but he’s focused. He’s in his element. 

The two men strike back and forth for a while, one dancing out of reach as the other stabs before slicing hard at the his enemy’s neck, retaliating fast. Slowly but inexorably, Alexander is getting tired, and so is the other man, but the fact remains: the pirate is being driven back towards the edge of the ship, back pressed up against the railing as he tries to deflect blow after blow, to duck to the side. He is, quite specifically, losing what should have been an easy battle with a witless henchman. _No wonder Peggy died,_ a spiteful voice in his head hisses. _You’re far too weak to have had even a hope of saving them, anyhow. Don’t you see it?_ He flings himself out of the way of a strike that would have split his skull open, heart beating madly as the henchman towers over him. _You’re too stupid to be a pirate. You wouldn’t have made it in America anyway: you couldn't save someone else's life, and now you can't even manage to keep your own._ Alexander gasps as his sword is knocked from his hands and the bodyguard leans down to his face, grinning madly.

“Thieves. All the same, ain’t they? Think they can do anything they want till they get beat. Well, we oughta teach people like ‘em a lesson, ain’t we?” His smile widens, and Hamilton looks back into those mad eyes, helpless. “Nah, shorty, I ain’t gonna kill you. You’re gonna die yourself. I’m just gonna… help you on your way.” It hadn’t yet struck him how massive this man was- at least twice his size, probably pulled from some prison or madhouse somewhere, a mutant, gigantic and far too muscled to be real, yet here he is. And he is definitely picking Alexander up with no effort whatsoever. Definitely hitting him hard to the temple, chuckling softly as the far smaller man goes limp- not dead, just unconscious- and dangling him over the water. 

Definitely dropping him into the crashing, cold, merciless waves. 

xxx 

Laurens emerges from down below, loaded down with sacks full of gold and food. So far, the coup’s been a great success- minimal guards, light security, no locks on the treasury or the supply room, just a heavy door to kick in in the treasury’s case (which he did, and he’s got a slight limp now to show for it) and the supply room was completely open. The foodstuffs are leisure items; they’re fixings for actual, legitimate feasts, or high-quality coffee grounds to last for weeks, or teabags, or jugs of the purest waters (he didn’t get those, unfortunately, the foods being heavy enough), that sort of thing that made his stomach turn over when he looked at the multitudes of people starving in the streets because these people have enough to feed those for months packed for a journey lasting maybe seven weeks, give or take. 

So, to put it simply, he’s feeling pretty victorious. Until he sees his roommate being dropped into the fucking ocean. 

_Shit,_ John thinks, and rushes over to the edge of the ship as fast as he can manage with the incredibly heavy load on his back, waiting for Alexander to resurface. 

He stands, tense, for a few seconds. 

A few more. 

10 feet away, a departing bodyguard sneers at him, and he understands. Confusion flashes through him _(How did-),_ followed almost immediately by shock _(He’s drowning. Oh my God, Hamilton is drowning and he doesn’t even know it),_ chased by panic _(Alexander is going to die. I can’t-),_ before, finally, cold fury sets in. _I am going to stab someone. But first, I’ve got a drowning idiot to save._

Fitting that Alexander Hamilton survived a burning ship, yet, today, could very well fall to what is a relatively calm sea. 

Laurens dives without even another thought into the sea. The cold hits him like a brick and knocks the breath from him, but he doesn’t pause, he can’t pause. With any luck, Hamilton was spread-eagled as he fell, and at least could have slowed his sinking, but John’s hope is dissipating fast as he glides deeper into the sea, heavy, thick clothing weighing him down as the water grows darker and darker around him. His eyes, stinging from the murky water, search desperately for any form, however faint it may be, while his lungs constrict as they run far too rapidly out of air. _Panic makes you lose oxygen quicker, Laurens,_ he reprimands himself ruefully. _Why the fuck are you panicking? God knows you’d have far less problems without him. The air situation, however, is a bit of an issue. Give up. Move on._ That’s the pirate speaking inside him, and he knows it as he travels through the deep. Being a morality-lacking thief has kept him alive; it’s the only conscious that could have possibly managed that, and he knows this too. Far too well, in fact. 

But right now the scared little boy with no friends is speaking, and he is saying this: _You have to save him. You have to. Please. There’s no other way._ No other way for _what,_ exactly, he’s not sure; but he knows for certain that now Alexander must be saved. So Laurens continues, growing ever colder, until finally, finally, a dark, murky shape appears, and he nearly laughs in relief as he grabs the body of his once-enemy and begins to kick for the surface. 

Of course, there’s the fact that it’s far easier to fall than to rise up again, and that’s proving to be problematic. 

Resisting the urge to gasp in air, he holds Hamilton tighter and kicks for the surface, wishing he could use his arms, wishing he was strong enough to do this fast enough with his legs alone. But still, he’s most certainly rising, the water growing bluer around him as he struggles upwards, lungs about to burst, muscles aching as he ascends far too quickly, legs cramping up, hands numb as they hold tight to Alexander’s arms.

His head breaks the surface of the water and he sucks in a shuddering gasp of air, ears feeling like they’re going to explode from the pain of pressure, muscles throbbing with pain, but he’s alive and, with any luck, so is Alexander. 

“Help!” he calls up desperately. “It’s Laurens! Help me!” John hates begging for help, but damn it, he’s going to die if he doesn’t. A head pokes over the edge of the ship- Lafayette. Dignity be damned, Laurens nearly sobs with relief as he painfully treads water. “Hamilton almost drowned, and I had to save him,” he gasps, still breathing hard. 

Lafayette shakes their head. _“Mon Dieu._ It’s a wonder either of you even survived to adulthood.” They throw John a rope, and he grabs it, and he’s lifted from the water, shaking from cold, and he’s still alive. 

Laurens collapses in a shuddering mess on the deck of an enemy ship, fingers still clenched around the clammy wrist of Alexander Hamilton. “Is he alive?” he chokes out. “Hell, forget him, am _I_ alive?” 

Mulligan’s boots appear in his line of vision, and the man speaks in a rumbling tone. “Yes, I think so, or you’re hallucinating and this is the last thing you see before you die.” John groans and curls up into a ball. 

“Ugh. Can’t believe it’s Alexander’s hair and your toes. Is this really going to be the last thing I ever see?” 

From somewhere behind him, Lafayette sighs. “Well, we know he’s fine, then. Alexander, though- that’s still up for debate.” 

Around him, Laurens notices, the sounds of the fight has long since stilled. He peers around through half-closed eyes drooping from exhaustion: three prisoners have been tied up, and he can feel the distinctive, slow descent downwards of a sinking ship as their only hostages (probably because they’re the only ones still even alive) are taken back to the pirate’s vessel. Much to his happiness, across the boat from him lies the dead body of the giant henchman that had nearly killed Alexander. He grins. He can be happy with that, at least. 

Next to him, Hamilton chokes out water and rolls over, cold but definitely still alive body pressing against John’s back. Laurens grimaces and scoots away. “Get off of me,” he grumbles, but there’s still a smile on his face. They made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, less hatred! 
> 
> Also, good news: I've got a semi-concrete plan about how the rest of this is going to play out. That's right, guys, I've got a plot chart-like thing! Which, in case you didn't already know, I was winging this whole fic chapter-by-chapter, throwing plot points at the wall and hoping they stick. So now I bring you... [drumroll please] .... Structured writing(TM).
> 
> Please leave me a comment if this made you feel anything. Anything at all. (and holy shit guys 200+ comments??? You spoil me)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who are these prisoners, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee it's been a real long time since I updated last 
> 
> the writer's block hit me hard. quite the creative recession I had
> 
> Anyway! Please enjoy this next installment of TRWSR!

Alexander gasps in a breath. He’s freezing cold and feels like every bone in his body has been beaten to a pulp with a mallet, most of all his skull, but he’s definitely still alive (or he’s in hell. That seems probable, too). Above him, he can see a blurred face leaning over him. The man gasps again and slams his fist into the side of the person’s head, flips over, and pins them down, breathing hard. 

When his vision clears, he feels like a complete idiot. 

“Hamilton, what the actual hell--” John Laurens glares up at him, looking like he’s not sure whether to be disgusted or a bit amused. Alexander freezes and rolls off of him, stomach flipping over. 

“Sorry, I--” 

“Yeah, nevermind that I saved your ass like maybe five minutes ago. You almost _died,_ but instead I _played the hero_ and tried to save you, and what do you do the second you wake up? You punch me in the head and pin me to the ground.” Laurens huffs and sits up, looking down at him with a furrowed brow, but he doesn’t seem too angry, which is a plus. 

Hamilton sighs, not meeting the other man’s eyes. “I don’t even remember what happened.” And it’s true- his last memory of the fight was being picked up by a massive man and a fist colliding with his temple. Then he woke up, sopping wet and feeling like he may actually freeze to death. 

“You must be cold,” Laurens comments after a long pause, rather than explain what _had_ happened; Hamilton nods, too cold to say anything else. “Can we get this man a blanket, please?” he yells at no one in particular, but no one comes. Just his luck. “Damn. Sorry, Hamilton.” The shorter man sighs for what feels like the thousandth time and curls up against Laurens, dignity and angry, antagonistic feelings be damned. Amazing what extreme temperatures can do to your pride. John lets out a reciprocating loud sigh, but loops an arm around him. “Idiot,” he mutters sharply. 

“Do you think we should get back to our ship?” asks Alexander after a pause. 

He feels Laurens sit bolt upright beside him. “Oh, shit. Yeah, you’re right, we’d better get going-” the taller man leaps to his feet, letting Hamilton tumble to the ground with a yelp. 

“Hey!” he complains, but it falls on deaf ears as, with the help of Lafayette and Mulligan, Laurens crosses back over to the other boat, leaping across the closing gap between to the two ships. Two ropes are tied between them, attached to hooks gripping the sides of the vessels and bringing them closer together. Sighing once more, Alexander clambers to his feet, before, shuddering, he staggers across into his own ship. _Even the_ deck _feels somehow friendlier compared to that place,_ he reflects with a smirk. John tosses a thick, woolen jacket at him- from the fabric alone he can tell that it’s expensive and overall very nice, and that’s not even mentioning the golden buttons sewn into it. 

Laurens shakes his head at Alexander’s questioning look and just falls in beside him, watching as the three prisoners are brought aboard while Hamilton throws on the coat. Immediately, he feels warmer, which is nice- he hasn’t been warm in what feels like forever. 

“Okay, so what’s happening?” John asks Lafayette as the entire crew stands together on deck, looking at the trio of prisoners standing in a line in front of them. All dark-skinned, one is tall and skinny, and the man standing closest to him is tall as well, but muscular. The first has a haughty look about him that Alexander has come to associate with rich, prideful people who have never fought a day in their lives, and the second seems to be his boyfriend or sidekick, at the very least. The third one, though, Hamilton can’t figure out: he’s slightly shorter than the other two, but sleeker, somehow (that’s the only word for it). He’s the only one who seems truly calm, and thus is the most threatening one in the group, even if he isn’t the leader of the trio. The others seem to be masking fear- they seem to be calm, but the haughty one seems to be hiding his weakness with arrogance, and the other one, though seemingly stoic, is practically glued to the first’s side. 

Lafayette shrugs eloquently with a supremely disinterested expression. “Judging by Washington’s face, he’s deciding whether or not to keep them. Hostages or no, we still have to feed them and generally take care of them. I suppose they could be valuable, but…” 

They trail off as Washington barks, “Names and positions in the American excuse for a government!” 

The haughty one (definitely the leader, it seems), clambers to his feet, ignoring the heavy chains binding him to his comrades. “Thomas Jefferson, _sir,”_ he sneers, lip curling, and Alexander dislikes him immediately. “And I’m the ambassador to France. I suppose you could say Secretary of State as well, but,” he shrugs, “as you say, we’re working on being an actual functioning government.” 

Jefferson’s sidekick (or partner, or friend, or whatever) gives a great sigh and rises. “I’m James Madison. I apologize for my comrade,” he sends a glare towards Jefferson, “and I’m a nobody. You needn’t worry about me. I just came along with Thomas, because, er...” He seems uncertain as to what to say next. 

Angelica waves her hand. “Yes, yes, you came as moral support for your boyfriend. Brilliant. And you?” she asks, turning to the final man. Washington sighs and glares at her. 

“Thank you, Angelica, for your input.” He opens his mouth to give an order to the last man, but he responds first.

“I am Aaron Burr.” Burr turns an impartial gaze on the pirates. “A senator. No one of great importance, you killed all of those.” Jefferson makes a dissenting huff, looking indignant, but Burr ignores him. “I assume you want us to join your crew? It seems you’ve suffered a loss recently.” 

There’s a great intake of breath around the ship, and Washington stands still for a moment, for once unsure of how to respond. “Yes,” he says carefully after a long pause, “we have. It is, however, of no interest to you, I am sure.” 

Burr shrugs. “Well, you can’t use us as hostages. Madison and I, well, we’re useless, and Jefferson isn’t all that important to America, no matter what he says-” Jefferson huffs again, crossing his arms, and again Burr ignores him. “And even if he was, ambassadors are practically dime-a-dozen out there; all you need is to have some semblance of diplomacy and also be bilingual.” 

A pause falls over them again. “Welcome aboard, then,” Washington says stiffly, a grimace on his face. An unnatural smile falls over Burr’s features. 

“Thank you, sir,” and he seems sincere yet lying at the same time. 

xxx 

The months that follow are… difficult. 

Understandably, the crew is unhappy to allow new people into their ranks, and these Americans certainly don’t fill the gaping hole that Peggy has left within them. Not by a long shot. 

Yet, inexorably, Burr, Jefferson, and Madison are being absorbed into _The Mutineer._

Lafayette takes to them immediately, due to their incredible skill to fit in with any type of group, and as a chain reaction, Mulligan grudgingly allows himself to befriend them. Through the duo, the two Schuylers follow, so by extension Reynolds finds herself falling in with that group. And after that, of course, everyone else follows. Alexander and John, however, find themselves the odd men out, unable to understand everyone else’s shocking love of the new acquisitions, as Hamilton refers to them in a sneering tone. 

Even more shockingly, they’ve found themselves on a winning streak of sorts, after the Americans get settled into the crew (this takes far shorter than it did for Alexander, which is a constant source of annoyance for the man: only three months for this trio of “government fools”, as Laurens puts it, to be accepted and even cherished) - they’re constantly having successful raids, and want for nothing. Strangely enough, life on the ship is even luxurious at times. Laurens gets all the tea he could ever want in the world. Sailing is smooth. Battles are easy. Trade ships are coming more and more frequently, often carrying exotic goods from far-off lands that the pirates can hardly even fathom. Best of all, a revolution even seems to be igniting. Wherever they dock, there are always whispers stirring in the shadows. Quiet, hushed conversations about _what if? What if we did overthrow the government? Would we be better off without these interloper representatives from Great Britain governing our community? Life is brutal, yes, but would a war to change it truly be worth it? I think..._ The pirates grin at each other when they hear these furtive exchanges, eyes lighting with excitement at the prospect that maybe all this that they’ve been doing is truly making a difference. 

Six months of these triumphs, nine after the government people were brought aboard, Mulligan and Washington call the crew to the kitchen. Laurens turns away from the essay he’d been writing with a sigh- he’d finally managed to get his ideas out correctly, and here he was being called away from his work. He and his roommate had grudgingly agreed to work together at the small desk crammed into their quarters. They were both, Hamilton had said, writers of considerable talent, both writing for the same cause, so why shouldn’t they collaborate. And thus, together, they’d formed a duo of pro-revolution paper writing, creating pamphlets that they’d publish at every port they docked at. Alexander threw down his pen indignantly, glaring in the direction of the kitchen (he was looking in the complete opposite direction of where it was, but for once Laurens opted not to call him out on it).

“Oh, what do you want?” the shorter man shouted at the ceiling, eyes narrowed, and Laurens snickered, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. 

“Leave it, Hamilton.” 

Alexander huffs and finally turns around, draping himself backward over his chair to look at John. “I was just getting to the good part, though!” he practically whines, upside-down face the very portrait of distress. John holds back another laugh, and instead swings open the door and walks out. 

“Well, if you want to get your ass kicked by Washington- and believe me, that would be hilarious, and I’m not arguing if you wanted that to happen, and I’d definitely cherish that moment forever- feel free to stay,” Laurens states from the hallway, and behind him he can hear a chair being kicked in frustration. He waits for a moment, and Hamilton appears beside him, scowling. 

“Fine. Fine. But I’m not happy about this.” 

“When are you ever?” 

The two men walk into the kitchen one after the other, and find the whole crew gathered around Washington. “Alright, mutineers-” they collectively wince at the corny nickname- “we’ve been doing incredibly well over the last couple months, correct?” The crew nods warily. “You deserve a party, correct?” Again they nod, not sure whether he’s joking or not. Washington sighs. “So you’re going to get a party. Obviously. Mulligan, pass out the drinks.” 

A collective cheer rings out, and beside John, Alexander lets out a whoop of excitement and grabs a beer, nearly falling over in his haste for alcohol. Laurens laughs and takes a bottle of his own. The entire crew has been put on probation from the stuff for the last couple of months ever since the day that Mulligan gave himself alcohol poisoning from his own supply after the death of Peggy. He winces at the memory- that week after their death had been hell for all of them, and, as unwelcome as the arrival of the Americans had been, the concentrated hatred both Alexander and John had felt for the had at least taken their mind off of the loss. Anything was better than seeing a friend sprawled out on the floor of his own kitchen, nearly dead. 

Popping the top of the bottle, Laurens sighs as he watches the festivities. As glad as he is that things have turned around for his ragtag group of friends, he still can’t quite feel… happy. Somehow, there’s something holding him back from celebrating. 

And so, as he always does when he can’t figure himself out, he climbs to the crow’s nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Alex more like perpetual salt squad
> 
> So, yeah, the writer's block slammed into me. It was literally like I ran into a wall of creativity-less apathy, hence me not updating for nearly a business week. Also, this is why this thing was kind of a filler chapter, but I promise, you'll be getting some great plot on the next update! 
> 
> Unfortunately, however, the day after tomorrow I'm leaving on a four-to-five day long trip after which I'll be going to see a concert. Most of these days will be spent without internet; all will be spent without a laptop. So don't expect anything from me then. But tomorrow, I'll endeavor to update and leave you with something good before I go. 
> 
> ANYWAY, please, please, please, leave me a comment so I know what you think about this chapter/the overall fic. I really appreciate any feedback, compliments, or constructive criticism you have to offer! Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc.; it really does make me incredibly happy!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not really much of a party without angsty, deep conversations, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.... here we go. Enjoy! More info later!

Alexander surveys the party. He’s in the room, yes, but he doesn’t exactly feel like he’s a part of the festivities; it’s almost as if there’s something missing from the room. It takes him a couple moments to figure it out- initially, he’d assumed it was the absence of Peggy making itself felt as it does so frequently, but this time, it’s beyond that. John Laurens isn’t in the room. 

For a few more minutes, he leans back against the wall, dark eyes darting about the kitchen before coming to rest upon Burr, Jefferson, and Madison, or the interlopers, as he’s taken to calling them. Granted, they’re currently a functioning part of the crew, but they don’t quite fit in. Though that could just be Alexander’s prejudice speaking- he’s never trusted the government, and certainly not its supporters. He must, however, admit that Madison isn’t so bad (he’s quiet, and relatively kind for a pirate, and shares most of Hamilton’s beliefs but speaks up when he doesn’t), and even Jefferson isn’t so awful to be around sometimes (mainly because his boyfriend tends to tone down the obnoxious part of his personality to a bearable level). But Burr… there’s just something about him. The man is calm, humorous, intelligent and is overall a pleasant guy to be around, but there’s something about the way he smiles, how his eyes seem dark, almost dead, the grin too bright and sincere to be real. Alexander shudders a little just thinking about it. On some level, he’s aware that he and Burr are two sides of the same coin, and a coin cannot truly hate its other half. But there’s nothing wrong with fearing it and distrusting it. 

He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. _These thoughts are far too dark for a party,_ he thinks ruefully, and instead turns his gaze to Reynolds, who’s sitting in a corner, eyes fixed firmly on Eliza. Hamilton lets out a soft chuckle and makes his way across the room to her, sliding down the wall to sit by her side. 

“Yeah?” the officer says, not shifting her gaze from the youngest living Schuyler. 

Alex shrugs and looks at her sideways. “I don’t know. You seem pretty fixated on Eliza, yes?” He full-out laughs as her cheeks color and she finally whips around to look at him. 

“You motherfu--” Reynolds starts, before pulling in a deep breath and calming down. “Yes. Fine. I was looking at Eliza. What do you need?” 

“Do I need to give you the shovel talk, as the kids say?” 

“We’re not--” 

_“Please._ You may as well be. And if you’re not, well, change that tonight.” 

The officer may have said something else, but by then Alexander has walked on, cackling. But as great as that is (he’s managed to embarrass the untouchable Reynolds, which isn’t easy- hell, no one even knows her first name, but he’s figured out her soft spot), he still doesn’t feel quite right, even as he talks and laughs with Mulligan and Lafayette. He’s hardly even listening to the conversation, instead continuing to scan the room, eyes searching ceaselessly for John. The man isn’t even sure why he cares so much- they aren’t even friends. 

“Okay, and then--” 

Alex cuts off whatever Lafayette may have been saying without a thought. “Um… it’s been great, but I’m going to go up on deck for a bit. Get some fresh air.” He doesn’t even notice Lafayette’s offended expression as he briskly walks past them, or Mulligan’s inquiring, raised eyebrow as the pair watch him go. 

He emerges up on deck and breathes in the cool night air, so different from the heated, tense, excited atmosphere belowdecks. _What are they even celebrating again?_ He’s forgotten already. The pirate looks around the deck warily; it’s completely deserted. The ship rocks up and down gently on the waves, and the sky is clear. _There’ll be no storm tonight,_ Alexander says to himself, and sits down in the center of the wooden floor, eyes turned upwards to the sky. He raises his half-empty bottle to his lips. 

“Hamilton?” comes a sharp voice from above. Alex yelps and nearly drops his bottle, catching it at the last moment. He rockets to his feet. 

“Laurens!” he shouts up at the sky furiously. Faintly, he hears laughter from the crow’s nest. “You--” 

He can almost feel John waving him off. “What do you want, Hamilton?” 

“Can I come up?” he asks hesitantly. Laurens doesn’t answer, but in the distance, silhouetted against the moon, a figure shrugs among the sails. He takes that as a yes, regardless of whatever the answer may be, and starts the long work of scaling the mast. “There’s got to be an easier way of getting up this thing!” he yells, craning his neck back to try to see John, but all he gets is another laugh.

“Theoretically, there is, but I’d like to think I’m slightly more safety conscious than Reynolds,” Laurens mutters under his breath. 

Alexander snorts and swings his way up into the crow’s nest. “I’m sorry, I could be wrong, but did you just say you were less reckless than Reynolds? Remind me, who exactly was it that picked a fight with a guy bigger than Mulligan and proceeded to get his ass kicked, not in one, or two, or three, but _four_ scenarios, two of which whilst sober?”

John sighs extremely loudly. 

“Fine, fine, I concede your point. But honestly, if I’m going to go out, it’ll be fighting, not because I accidentally fell from a rope and broke my neck. That’d be ridiculous,” he grumbles, eyes still fixed on the gently rising and falling waves below. 

Hamilton shrugs and follows his gaze to the water. “Fair enough, Laurens.” They fall into a silence that for once isn’t tense, just calm. Companionable. So, naturally, Alexander feels pressured to break it. “So, how exactly do you do your job? I could never understand it. I wouldn’t know what to look for.” John finally looks up, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“What are you asking?” he inquires, and Alex sighs. 

“I’m asking you to teach me. What do you look for? How do you find the patience to just stay perched up here for so long?” 

Laurens tips his head at the smaller man, eyes not really looking at anything, deep in thought. “Well… I don’t really know. It seems natural to me, I suppose. But,” he steps back from the edge of the crow’s nest and waves him forward, “I could show you.” Hesitantly, Alexander steps up to the rim of the crow’s nest, looking forward towards the endless sky, and the less endless horizon. It’s dark enough that he can hardly see where the ocean and sky meet, however, a blending effect between two shadowy nothings. 

“I don’t see anything, Laurens,” Hamilton says a little irritably. _What secrets are you hiding from me?_ But John just looks amused as he leans over Alexander’s shoulder. 

“You’re not looking hard enough. I grant you the fact that there isn’t much out here, sometimes, but, luckily, on this particular night, we are sharing this bleak place with someone.” 

Hamilton cranes his neck again to see where Laurens is looking, but the other man’s eyes are fixed on him, dancing with amusement. 

“Oh, fine,” he mumbles to no one in particular, and goes back to scanning to the night, until, finally, movement flashes in the corner of his eye and he gasps, unbidden. “Wait! I saw something!” He can practically feel the pirate grinning behind him. 

“Finally, you see it,” Laurens grumbles, but there’s a smile in his voice. “That’s a seabird, one of the few so far out in the ocean. It’s an albatross, to be specific, which are rare this far northeast.” As much as he tries to mask it, Alexander can feel curiosity growing inside him. 

“Can I see the spyglass?” he murmurs, as if he was going to scare off the distant bird. The pirate shrugs and pulls it from his coat, tossing it to the smaller man. Alexander peers through it, and though it takes him a minute to locate the bird, he can soon see it in close detail. He squints. “It looks wounded,” Hamilton states hesitantly, and behind him, Laurens nods. 

“Yes. You can see that its flight is a bit staggered, and it lists to one side. If it doesn’t find somewhere to land soon, it will die; its other wing is not enough to support it, and that’s not even mentioning blood loss, hunger, and thirst,” John says softly. Alexander begrudgingly admits to himself that he’s impressed; he’d hardly noticed the albatross was injured even with the spyglass. 

The two men watch the bird struggle over the waves in silence for a while, feeling something but not quite sure what. 

“You haven’t answered my other question yet,” Alexander states quietly. John doesn’t even look up, so he presses on. “You are not a patient man, Laurens; you and I both know that. You’re like me in that way.” He chuckles ruefully. “You’re like me in a lot of ways, actually. So how do you find it within yourself to wait in silence for something to change?” Laurens lifts his head and looks him straight in the eye, gaze strangely soft; the fire is gone from him tonight, leaving only the faintest whisper of the anger that fuels the pirate.

“I’m not patient.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Not at all. I can’t calm down, nothing can make me.” Another laugh, more rueful but frustrated too, more at himself than anything else. “This takes my mind off of things. I suppose that’s as close as I’m going to get. Same with fighting, though that’s a product of anger, not a soother. But, you know, what else can I do?” Laurens turns his head up towards the sky and glares at the stars, but there’s no heat behind his gaze. “Except to join a revolution. I don’t know what else to do, Hamilton. I just don’t. You said it once, I think: _Inútil._ Useless.” 

Somewhere, within him, Alexander understands.

xxx 

John doesn’t know what the other man is thinking about. 

The silence between them stretches out, longer and longer, until, finally, Alexander lifts his head and meets his gaze, even and fiery in the dark, cool night. 

“I understand how you feel.” 

Normally, Laurens would contradict him; no one knows how he feels. They may have sympathy, but they do not possess the one thing he craves above all else- empathy. Yet somewhere within him he senses that the smaller man that he once underestimated does understand. The pain of waiting, and not knowing what else to do. Feeling useless, like you’ll never make a mark on the world, just sitting there _waiting_ for a chance that may never come. Except here’s the difference: Hamilton does not wait. And in that moment, Laurens wishes to be more like him. 

But he doesn’t say all this, instead just nods and murmurs, “Perhaps we’re more alike than we think.” He doesn’t break eye contact with Alexander. He doesn’t know if he could, even if he wanted to. 

“We are!” the flames that always crackle in Hamilton’s eyes seem to jump, like he’s just had a revelation. “We are, John, even more than you know. We- we should--” 

Laurens doesn’t exactly know how to respond to that. “I… we should what, Hamilton?” There’s a barb of warning hidden in his words, and Alexander slumps, like the air has been let out of him. His next words are soft, and yet hopeful, more sunlight than fire. 

“We should be friends. We’re not enemies, not really.” He pauses, like he’s floundering for words, drowning in an ocean of what could be said. “We projected our problems into each other. We hated only because we were the nearest, easiest targets. We’re alike, Laurens, so alike…” Alexander’s voice dies away, until he’s just looking up at the taller man. John is confused, incredibly confused, but there’s something inside him, something whispering, quietly, _He’s right._

And before Laurens knows what he’s doing, he’s nodding firmly and saying, “We already are, Alexander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was still on a hardcore writer's block thing when I wrote this, and it's hard to do extreme emotion when you're like that. Heck, I almost didn't update, and then I realized I'd be on vacation for a week, and just sort of went "ah shit, well this needs to happen anyway so why the hell not" and did this. 
> 
> So hopefully it was a great experience, and also, yay, deep friendship arc! I've been looking forward to that! We're moving forward with the story! It's gonna get really plotty soon, so get ready for that. 
> 
> Drop me a comment if you enjoyed this on literally any level. Seriously. Please. I'm gonna be gone for a week, most of that time with no access to internet. THANK YOU ALL, SO, SO MUCH.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change after that. They still fight, but would they really be John and Alexander without that? 
> 
> Anyhow, they dock in New York City, and Laurens is truly hoping Hamilton won't become a new man without them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervously peeks back in here* so,,,,,,,,,,,, hi I'm back
> 
> enjoy the chapter !! 
> 
> But also read the end notes, because I've got news.

Obviously, things change from there on out. 

(That wasn’t the end of the conversation, of course, but it may as well have been; everything proceeding from that moment were semantics, such as: “Really? I was under the impression you wanted me dead for quite a while, and then just tolerated my presence because I was useful and not awful all the time.” “Are you joking with me, Hamilton? Of course we were friends.” Awkward cough, glance away before continuing. “At least for some of the more recent months. Granted, there were many, many times early on during which I contemplated murdering you in your sleep. It would have been easy. On the rare occasion you sleep, you sleep like the dead,” and so forth.) 

The crew would have to be blind to not notice the fact that suddenly the two pirates with the most prominent enmity between each other are suddenly grinning and joking with one another, shoving playfully at the other man, and honestly, just acting like children. They still bicker, of course- nothing will ever change the fact that their two personalities are volatile and, when combined, will almost certainly cause an explosion- but it’s changed ever so slightly now, like the same color with a different tint. 

Not only is it generally a good news for unity and cooperation within the ship’s ranks, it’s also definitely a plus for the pro-revolutionaries. 

The two personalities of John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton, are, after all, volatile. And it is their very mission to create an explosion of drastic proportions. 

xxx 

Alex lounges back in his chair to the point where the furniture is very nearly tipped over, eyes unfocused and staring at the ceiling, looking but not taking in any new information. John lays on his back in his hammock, head tilted ever so slightly to the side, idly watching his friend think as he himself runs through ideas and thoughts inside his head. This has become their default position when they’re not sitting side by side at their too-small desk, writing words to try to spark a war, or out on deck, waging battles to create that same war. In short, this hypothetical- yet so close to reality- revolution has consumed their every waking moment, and some of their sleeping ones, too. The war doesn’t discriminate in its strike of obsession, and it has without a doubt struck the pirates of _The Mutineer._

The smaller of the two men twirls a quill between his fingers idly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling as he leans back ever so slightly, completely lost in thought. His thoughts are, he knows, a dangerous place to be, often fraught with storms and war and death and too many words to possibly cope with, and sometimes he drowns in them. Laurens does this too, sometimes, and sometimes Hamilton wonders how he didn’t see all these similarities before. But in any case, it’s dangerous for him to be so consumed by his own mind. 

Case in point: half of a second later, he is on the ground, chair clattering to the ground beside him. 

From behind him, Laurens laughs raucously, to the point where he, too, falls to the ground, tumbling out of his hammock. “Dear _God,_ Hamilton,” he giggles out. “How are you even _alive?”_ Alex rolls over with a huff, back smarting from where it hit the wooden floor. 

“Oh, please. Like you haven’t done so much worse.” He pauses. “Remember that one time when you ran into the mast?” 

John rolls his eyes and brushes off the question, laughter subsiding as he says, “So what exactly was it that was so important?” Alexander scrambles for something plausible- it’d be awkward to say that he’d been thinking about their similarities when the war was supposed to be the only thing on his mind, and also who the hell says that to what has become one of their closest friends?- and eventually just shrugs internally and takes a shot in the dark. This all happens within the slightest pause of conversation (and as an afterthought, Hamilton admires the human brain: his, specifically). 

“The fact that we’ll be docking soon.” 

Immediately he knows it’s true; John’s eyes brighten immediately and the taller man all but rockets to his feet. “Yes! I thought you weren’t listening when Washington said we were headed to New York City?” There’s something cautious and worried behind those hazel eyes, but Hamilton pushes it away easily. 

“I wasn’t. But I figured we were docking somewhere, considering the fact that we were headed north.” It’s mostly true- whenever the ship heads north, it generally means they’re going to dock somewhere. The cycle of _The Mutineer,_ after all, goes something like this: head south, make no stops. Circle around the southern colonies, including the Florida Territory, and then head north for a major port to dock. There are little exceptions to this (like heading north and stopping at every single major port, but they don’t do that much anymore. It seems like bad luck after what happened to… well). 

Laurens overlooks this and tips his head quizzically at Alexander, long hair spilling over his shoulders. “Really? I thought you didn’t trust the North Star. You’re getting as indecisive as Burr.” Hamilton huffs indignantly, remembering that conversation that seemed to happen so long ago and glaring at John in offense. 

_“Excuse_ me? Did you just imply that I’m like _Aaron Burr?”_

John waves his hand in the air dismissively. “Unimportant. Anyway, yes, we’re headed to New York City,” he says, a grin unfurling on his face. Hamilton opens his mouth to say something in reply, but the other man cuts him off. “Also, I already knew you weren’t listening and you just guessed that we were docking somewhere.” Alex rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother to deny it, instead settling on throwing his quill at the pirate, who catches it easily. 

“You excited?” Hamilton asks nonchalantly, flopping back down to lie on the wooden floor. 

The grin grows wider as he peers down at him. “Hell yeah. It’s gonna be great.” That look is back on his face, though, but still Alexander doesn’t question it- if John wanted to tell him, he would have already. That’s how it works, their friendship. Two idiots running their mouths off as soon as a thought reaches their mind. And that’s also _why_ it works, them trusting each other enough to give each other some of their fire. 

xxx 

Laurens hauls himself into the crow’s nest, Hamilton right behind him as always, and turns to watch the skyline of New York City grow closer. 

He can’t stop the excitement churning in the pit of his stomach; he’d never been to New York City, though ever since he’d been a child it had been the only place he’d wanted to live or at least visit. Mainly because his father called its inhabitants “liberal scum”, but still. 

Hamilton glances over at him and echoes his thoughts. “Excited, are we?” John also can’t stop the smile from returning to his face, because _hell yeah, he’s excited._ Who wouldn’t be? 

But then there’s that one fact that he can’t get out of his head, though it hasn’t seemed to occur to the person he’s most worried about, and that fact is this: Alexander Hamilton was sailing to New York City, because the city is salvation, has always been salvation. He had wanted to start a new life, become a new man, shape this land like clay into something greater, and now there’s nothing stopping him from doing that. Granted, Alexander could easily have abandoned them at any of their other dockings, but even then he would have been a couple hundred miles from his destination with no money. And now it would be so easy for him to leave them, and John knows that with every fiber of his being that he himself could not survive that happening. Losing his closest friend. 

He shudders a little at the thought. _But he wouldn’t leave you; you know that. Right?_ This day has been agonizing, and he just wants to dock already. Laurens looks at the other man, watches the way that his grin crinkles up the corners of his eyes, wind sweeping his long, dark hair back as he gazes out over the water. _You wouldn’t leave us, would you?_

“I wouldn’t.” 

For a moment, John is surprised, then he realizes he must have said it aloud, then shrugs. “Good.” And that’s all that needed to be said. Relief sweeps through him, because the crew needs him and his friends need him, and that was always going to be enough for Hamilton anyway (what with his raging hero complex and everything). There was, of course, no need to be worried, but the nervousness doesn’t quite leave him as New York City goes from a misshapen blob on the horizon to a sprawling mass of buildings and winding streets, and _The Mutineer_ scrapes up against the dock as they sail into the port. 

xxx 

The pirates secure the boat before bounding off of it excitedly- it’s been ages since they’d docked. All their worries and darkness seem to float away as their boots hit the wooden dock, and even the unsettling memory of Alexander’s brief conversation with John up in the crow’s nest seems to be shoved to the back of his mind as he looks up at the city that could have been his home.

John’s right, he supposes. After all, he was sailing for New York on that ill-fated ship more than two years previously, and he could so easily leave this ragtag band of pirates, but unlike the early days of his time spent with his captors, the desire to dissociate with them and try to make something of himself seems distant, almost surreal. No, The Mutineer has become his family, and he sure as hell couldn’t imagine it any other way.

The pirates split up into groups (Alex is with John. Obviously.) and race out into the city with agreements to meet back at the ship by midnight to rest. They’re planning to be in New York City for about a week- more than enough time for Hamilton and Laurens to get their most recent papers published, and the rest of them to steal (enough to tide them over to their next docking), gain allies and/or sponsors, and spread rumors. Of all the cities most likely to revolt, New York City ranks up in the top ten; you can practically feel the aura of restlessness, danger, and violence wafting off of the city in the ocean wind. 

Alexander inhales deeply, parchment clenched tightly in his hands. Today is his first day out in the city, and, like the rest of the pirates, it’s his free day. Despite Reynolds’s grumbles, they can’t work all the time, and sometimes the war does have to wait, so the heaviest work they’re going to do today is talk loudly about the revolution in some bar or another (orders are vague like that, but they’re not complaining). Sometimes the pirates just need to have fun. John throws him a quick glance as they walk into the city, and he sighs loudly and stuffs the papers into his bag. The taller man gives him a teasing smile and Hamilton huffs and shoves at him lightly, not that it does anything. His friend is tall and muscular, and while Alex is strong, he’s scrawny-alley-dog strong, thin and small but angry. Laurens is big-well-trained-fight-dog strong. 

John taps him lightly on the shoulder, and Alexander instinctively relaxes, brow unfurrowing. “You’re doing that thing again,” Laurens says, smirking slightly. “The thing where you zone out and wonder whether you can take me in a fight. The answer is no. Now come on, enjoy yourself. We’re in, as the Schuylers so superiorly put it, the greatest city in the world.” As if to make a point, he breathes in deeply, then coughs on the polluted air, and Alex cackles (it’s easy to do that sort of thing when you’ve been living on the fresh air of the high seas for a couple months, and it’s funny to Hamilton until he starts coughing too, and then they’re just standing in the streets, practically hacking their own lungs up). 

Just as the coughing peters out, Lee strolls past him, except the officer isn’t really strolling- he’s walking fast, harried, a single paper clutched to his chest. The man’s eyes are narrowed and flitting back and forth suspiciously. John and Alexander exchange a glance, still out of breath, and in that half of a half of a second, they make the decision to follow him. 

“Except you’re not coming,” Alexander says aloud to John, who glares at him furiously. 

“Like hell I’m not coming. I don’t trust that asshole one bit, and definitely not when he’s looking as shifty as that. He may or may not stab you, and, but maybe it’s just me, I don’t really want you dead. If you’re dying, it’s gonna be me who takes you down, got it?” 

Hamilton snickers before settling his face into something resembling stern and threatening. “No. You’re not coming. He’ll get even more suspicious if two people are tailing him, even if he doesn’t see our faces.” John considers that for a second, expression growing darker as he considers, and Alex can see that the other man knows he’s right. 

Finally, Laurens spits out, “Fine-” and strides away, anger in his every step. 

Sighing, Alexander sets off in pursuit of Charles Lee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so the writer's block hit me pretty hard. 
> 
> To be fair, I was on a trip for a large majority of the time I was gone, but late-night Saturday to today? Totally just me having no motivation or will to write. I'm sort of falling out of my Lams obsession (which is hella inconvenient, considering I'm like halfway through a fanfic for them. Like, seriously brain- the fuck!?), so after I finish this one- and trust me on this, I will- I'll be moving on from Lams stuff. However, the high likelihood is I'll continue to write for my already established universes, just not creating any new ones. I hope you all continue to support me regardless, though obviously you're in it for the Lams, but hey, a kid can dream, right? 
> 
> ....Did you miss me? (I thought this in several iterations of a distorted voice. If you did the same, thank you.)
> 
> ANYWAY, news aside, please please please please please drop me a comment, as they're a large majority of my motivation and will to write in the first place. Also, not gonna lie, despite the writer's block, I'm hella excited for the upcoming plot. It's gonna be good. Thank you all for sticking with me!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the hell is Charles Lee up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow.... sorry for not updating in forever (explanation in end notes). 
> 
> For now, however, enjoy this chapter!!

Alexander sneaks through the streets after Lee, pushing away the tense moment between him and John. _In the long run,_ he thinks, _it won’t matter._ After all, neither of the two young men ever really learned how to effectively hold their tongue, and so instead they’ve learned to deal with consequences. 

His suspicion only grows as he trails the officer, who seems to be doing everything in his power to throw off any potential pursuers: ducking into alleyways, forging through the thickest crowds, changing course every chance he gets. The thing is, that only helps if you’re not actually being closely watched. Lee is definitely being closely watched. 

Alex tails him to a bar in what is obviously the bad part of town as the sun sets, and Lee stands outside the door shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting back and forth anxiously as he waits. A great, hulking figure appears, a shadow against the dim candlelight emitting from inside the building. 

“What do you want?” the person rumbles, and Hamilton has to lean close to hear Lee’s response. 

“I’m… here for the card game,” the officer replies hesitantly, but his eyes flash with a hidden meaning. The guard (or whoever the person is), nods gruffly and lets him inside, disappearing into the building. Hamilton isn’t new at this sort of thing, and even if he was, it would be painfully obvious that that was a code phrase. He considers his options: he could see if he could get inside, and very likely be recognized by Charles Lee, or he could get closer. The meeting seems to be taking place on the second floor, judging by the strangely quiet crowd gathered up there, blocking the dim vestiges of light from lanterns. Alexander grimaces and edges closer to the building, eyes flicking around nervously; he shouldn’t have gone after the man without a concrete plan of attack, but here he was. 

The wall is poorly made, bricks jutting out here and there almost completely, their corners weathered away by age and crumbling at the edges. It wouldn’t be too difficult to climb for someone like him, small and light and fast, but what would be difficult was the task of staying perched on a building by only his toes to listen in on a secret meeting. Hamilton sighs. It’s not like he’s got a better choice. 

Slowly, he scales the wall, sometimes only able to use his fingers and toes to support his entire body weight. His entire body shakes with the effort of hauling himself up the wall, and he holds himself in position, spread-eagled on the side of the building, hoping against hope not to fall. And yet Hamilton presses his ear against the thin, cracked, hole-ridden wall, and he listens. 

“...Can’t believe these people. Why… my assignment?” Alex can hear Charles Lee’s voice fading in and out as he tries to listen in better. There’s a gruff, muttered reprimand, probably from an older man, and Lee grumbles something under his breath, but when he speaks again he sounds slightly more subdued. “This whole damned city wants a revolution. What are we doing about it, sir?” _Sir?_ "Isn’t the point of this group to…” The voice trails off distantly as Lee walks farther from the wall. Alexander swears under his breath, fingers clenching around the brick. 

Another, sneering voice can be heard all of a sudden, and Hamilton tenses. “Ugh, this _revolution_ business. Why hasn’t it all blown over? Who can explain this to me?” 

A snicker. “Seabury, please. Just because you’re not privy to the real plans….” This voice trails away, too, and Alexander represses the urge to punch something. The pieces are falling together far too slowly, but he doesn’t like what picture they’re already making. 

A new tone, whispering. “How’s the spy doing?” 

“Dear God, how should I know? He doesn’t talk at all except to complain! He’s been completely useless!” 

“No, no, he’ll reveal his use. The One does everything for a reason, you know…” 

The guests seem to be circling around the room, meaning that Hamilton never gets a full conversation, meaning this whole endeavor has been, for the most part, entirely useless. 

He hears a whisper-shout from behind him. “Hamilton!” Alex jumps and nearly falls off of his precarious perch. Instead, he cranes his aching neck around. 

“Laurens?” he hisses, eyes widening. “How did you--” 

The taller man approaches at a run, boots echoing loudly on the empty street. “We have to go. It’s nearly midnight.” There’s a smudge on his face. Blood. He doesn’t ask.

Alex shakes his head. “No, we can’t leave yet, we can’t- it’s important.” 

“How?” 

“Sorry, I don’t understand it yet.” A lie. Not completely a lie, but close enough to it for Alexander to feel guilty about it: he understands, but not totally. Besides that, there is a voice whispering in his head. _Don’t put Laurens in danger. He doesn’t deserve it._

John shakes his head in disgust. “Come on, Alexander. Leave Lee to whatever the hell it is he’s doing, and come back to the ship. We have so much work to do.” There’s a note of desperation in his voice, and something about it compels Hamilton to leap down. 

Laurens half-catches him and steadies him, a tiny smile on his face. 

“Alright, alright,” Alexander grumbles, nudging John’s side with his elbow. “Let’s go. I just don’t like not knowing things.” 

The taller man’s smile grows, if only slightly. “Me neither. But for the moment, I’m more worried about the wrath of Washington than the activities of the dock rat we all call Charles Lee.” 

xxx 

Laurens is, in fact, worried about the activities of the dock rat they all call Charles Lee. 

He hadn’t caught any of the conversations, but he had seen the enraged look on Alexander’s face. He also knew his friend well enough to know when he was lying- there was the slightest of downward twitches to his lips for just a moment. Everyone had a tic- Lafayette’s usually animated face would fall into an expressionless mask, Angelica’s intensity would increase, Eliza’s voice would grow soft and uncertain, as if the words were a question, Mulligan’s eyes would start darting around (he normally held eye contact while speaking), et cetera, et cetera. He’d never known Lee’s, though. That was unsettling. 

He brushes the thought away as he and Hamilton head back to the ship, joking uneasily and looking around. The streets seemed to be strangely crowded as they went back to the docks- the pirates were used to open seas and relatively small towns, but this was a veritable metropolis, buzzing with activity non-stop. They board the vessel about a minute too late, but no one seems to notice. All of the pirates are muttering about the conspicuous absence of a certain Charles Lee on deck. 

Instinctively, John looks to Alex, but the smaller man’s lips are pressed together in a straight line, and his face is impassive. _Strange,_ Laurens thinks, unsettled. It isn’t usual for Alexander to omit information, especially with that ego complex and ambition of his, constantly demanding power, anything to get him higher in the pecking order. And then- _Oh. Of course._ Talking about Lee would not give him any credence- hell, it would make him look insane, spreading rumors about whatever he heard in that run-down building. _What are you playing at, Hamilton?_

Still, Alexander is silent, dark eyes flitting towards the sudden motion of Lee coming aboard. A hush fell over the crew as he stalked onto the ship, and only Laurens is close enough to see the dark annoyance in his eyes. It’s obvious that something has changed over the brief time they were in the city, and again John looks to Hamilton, but there’s a careful lack of emotion on his face. Laurens grits his teeth and looks away. 

“Well?” Washington prompts. “How did your city night go?” 

That eases the tension on the ship at least a little as the crew bursts into chaos, reporting on how the revolutionary movement was being seen by the most influential city in America, what important people were talking about it, the fights they had nearly gotten into. Almost in unison, Alexander and John smile at the sound of the crew’s excited voices running over each other before adding their own opinions- with notable change that Hamilton’s are muddled, and, almost certainly, all made up. 

Laurens’s memories are quite clear and very real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, I know it's been, like, a decade, but I can explain, alright? I've been busy, for one, and summer is nearly over. I'm continuing to go on trips. I'm painting my room. And when I haven't been busy, I've been unmotivated as hell. Actually, I did get the muse once, but more on that later. 
> 
> For the moment, though, I apologize for that weak, short chapter. I was gonna do more, then I realized it had been more than a week since I updated, much less since I had motivation, and I really didn't want to be That Author, so. I cut it off. 
> 
> Now, on the muse: PLEASE READ THIS IF YOU IGNORED THE REST! I used my one spark of motivation and writing clarity to type out a 6K word oneshot for Welcome To Night Vale! I'm sorry! I feel guilty! But I'm gonna ask you all to check it out, because the wtnv fandom consists of like seven people on here. Please read it! It's actually okay for once! 
> 
> At any rate, I hope you're all still here with me. I really, really don't have Lams motivation, but I'm going to keep on going because I owe it to you guys, my readers. Also, the plot's gonna be hella good. That too. 
> 
> Please leave me a comment even though I'm a shitty person who didn't update for four score and seven years! Blah blah blah, until next time, guys! Until next time.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Laurens's night, and what happens after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee, that took me a while. I did actually put a bit of thought into this one, but like the previous chapter and all chapters after this one probably, I had no motivation and was facing a formidable writers' block, which almost undoubtedly screwed up what I was trying to do. This'll probably be my updating schedule from now on- once a week. Or less. I'm sorry, I really am, but I just don't have the motivation anymore.
> 
> anyway: warnings for this chapter are slurs/insults (whore, queer used as a slur, etc) and mentions of abuse/abuser 
> 
> enjoy !!

_Laurens huffs furiously and spins around. He doesn’t bother to watch Alexander fade away into the crowd- it’s not worth it. On some level, he knows that his friend has the right idea, that it would be suspicious to follow Lee as a pair, but his anger is telling him that Hamilton doesn’t think he can handle the officer. Which is bullshit. As always, however, emotions beat out logic, and he stalks off angrily, fuming to himself. He needs to punch something._

_The pirate catches sight of a pair of women walking off into a back alley, fingers entwined, and he could swear he recognizes them-- but surely it can’t be?--- but it is!_

_“Eliza,” he whispers, as if his crewmate could hear him over the bustle of the crowded street. “Reynolds!” A little louder. John’s not really sure why he bothered, considering that they’re a solid block away from him. He smirks to himself as he darts after them, registering that they’re holding hands- Alex had said that he’d dared Reynolds to make a move on Eliza the night he’d befriended John, but---_

Focus, _he tells himself._

_Laurens catches up to them and pastes a grin on his face. “Hey!” he exclaims, and Reynolds whips around, fists coming up reflexively. John leaps back, real smile replacing the fake one. “It’s me, it’s me! Don’t hurt me!” Eliza giggles a little and leans against the officer. Laurens smirks at her. “So, you and Reynolds?” Not so much of a question as a statement._

_“Me and Reynolds,” Eliza agrees, a secretive smile curling up the edge of her lips._

_“You know her first name yet?” John quips, poking at her arm._

_The little smile turns into a lopsided smirk. “Would I tell you if I did?”_

_Reynolds elbows her girlfriend. “Oh for God’s sake, let’s just get moving. You coming, Laurens?”_

_He grimaces. “Yeah.” Thankfully, they don’t ask him why he’s not with Alexander. He’s not sure how he’d answer if they did, and besides he’s trying not to think about it._

_When they reach the bar, his first idea is to get as inebriated as he possibly can. He’s not sure why he wants to do this, exactly; it’s not like he’s got any great reason to get blackout drunk, but for a moment it seems like a good idea. Because Laurens knows he’s got two main coping tactics: one, pick a fight; two, drink until you want to die. The first one sounds like a great option. And hey, if it ends up that Charles Lee is the one he punches, all the better._

_The three pirates find a booth in the back corner, and begin talking loudly about the revolution. They’ve all changed their clothes from the sea rags to the city garb- clean, well-tailored clothing that makes them look like upper-middle class men and women, rather than the thieves and peasants they are._

_Already they’re beginning to draw attention from some of the people around them; John is pleased to notice that some of them are nodding along ever so slightly, drifting away from their own conversations to contribute to the pirates’. Most of them are very drunk, however- it’s not really fun to be with drunk people unless you are, but Laurens has already told himself that he’s not going to have any alcohol tonight._

_He knows that soon they’re going to get the wrong sort of attention, especially with the back-alley crowd they’ve currently got surrounding them. He exchanges an uneasy look with the two women next to him, who nod. It’s not that Laurens is scared of fighting, it’s just that he’d rather not get his own brains bashed out, much less Reynolds’s or Eliza’s._

_Too late._

_A hulking man approaches, a sneer curling up his face. “Oh, look,” he says, pushing aside the crowd to loom over the pirates, who get to their feet. “Revolutionaries.” The word is more drawl than statement, and it speaks of violence to come. There’s terror in Reynolds’s face. Why? The officer is armed, John knows- she keeps a knife in her boot at all times. But he should’ve taken a gun. He has no qualms about shooting some thug in the foot. Or the head, if need be._

_“Excuse me, sir, you might want to get out of the way.”_

_Laurens glances to his right in surprise- Eliza. He supposes he shouldn’t be, because they’re all pirates for a reason, but for some reason he always seems to forget that Eliza isn’t nearly as soft and kind as she comes off as. The thug’s cold smile turns lecherous, and a chill runs down John’s spine._

_“What’ve we got here?”_

_Reynolds shifts closer to Eliza, eyes narrowing. She’s lost the calmness that she normally seems to give off in waves, and, oh, God, there’s a masked terror in her eyes even as she glares up defiantly into the thug’s eyes._

_“You’re supposed to be dead,” the officer growls, and for the first time the thug’s eyes turn to her, and they widen._

_His voice drops an octave, and he’s speaking around a dark smile. “Maria,” he says, and Reynolds nods curtly._

_“James,” she shoots back. Eliza presses closer to her, either to comfort or in fear._

_“Let’s get out of here,” John says. He’s backing down from a fight, he knows it, but the tenseness in the room is almost too much for him to handle, and he knows the spectators will take the side of the hulking James before any of them._

_Eliza nods curtly, only her eyes betraying her fear. Reynolds- Maria- grimaces, not taking her eyes off of James, but nods as well. As one, the three pirates, begin to edge out of the cramped room, hearts thudding in their chests. It’s not the end of it, of course it isn’t; people are watching them, but at least they’re out of the confined space._

_They make it into the alley, and Maria seems to deflate. “He’s supposed to be dead,” she whispers, and then he’s back._

_“So,” James says, but John cuts him off._

_“Leave us alone,” he spits furiously, moving in front of the pair of women. Eliza and Maria’s hands find each other and hold tight._

_James connects the dot. “So, you and her?” he asks, sneering, question directed not at Laurens but at the two women behind him. The same query John had asked them earlier, but no playfulness, no warmth, just cruelty._

_“Me and her,” Maria snarls, fingers clenching tight around Eliza’s._

_James takes a step towards them, ignoring John. “Didn’t think you’d go queer. You always were dirty, though; I guess I should’ve seen it coming.” His teeth are yellowing, and they show when he grins coldly._

_“Say it again, you piece of shit, insult her one more time, and I swear to God I’ll deck you so fast and hard you’ll wake up on the ground and you’ll finish your sentence,” Laurens hisses, advancing on the taller man. Finally, James looks back down at him._

_“Who are you again? You’re really friends with that fucking whore?”_

_Laurens grins icily. “Well, I did warn you.” He lunges forward, fist catching the edge of James’s jaw, and, caught off guard, the stronger man falls to the ground. John follows him down, grin still not off his face as he punches him again and again and again. It’s unnecessary based on this encounter, but all the pirates on his ship have heard the story that Maria’s been abused, and hell if this man doesn’t fit the description perfectly. Also, fighting helps. It always helps._

_He’s vaguely aware of getting hit near the corner of his eye, and then two pairs of hands are wrapped around his arm, hauling him off of Reynolds. “That’s enough, Laurens!” Eliza cries, shoving him back. James lies on the ground in a pool of his own blood, breathing erratically._

_John shrugs. “I did what I had to do.” His own breath is harsh and coming in spurts, and he shakes out his hands loosely, ignoring the stings of pain in his knuckles._

_Maria looks shaken as she stares down at the body, though her expression is cold and hard, like ice. “He deserved it. We’re done,” she says softly, nudging at the man’s side with her toe. She looks up, eyes full of challenge and defiance. “We’re done.” Reynolds and Eliza disappear off into the alley, headed back towards the docks. Grimacing, Laurens looks down at his pocketwatch as his breathing slows down. Nearly midnight._

_He sighs and goes off to look for Alexander._

~

John tells the pirates none of that as they share, though. He’s not the only one quiet- actually, a majority of the crew is, and he can see Washington looking around, unsettled. Hamilton’s mouth is clamped shut, Eliza and Reynolds are talking quietly with each other, subdued, and Lee is glaring at the ground. The captain says nothing about it, however. 

Washington raises a hand to cut them off, and the pirates fall silent. “You all can sleep now.” He smiles, as though to try to shake of the unease. “You’ll probably need it for tomorrow.” 

Later, Laurens tells Hamilton the entire story. His friend watches with large, dark eyes, smiling only when Maria’s name is revealed, and even then it’s a brief, darting thing. 

“What’s on your mind?” John tries once he’s done, but Alex just shakes his head, propping his chin up on steepled fingers and staring off into space. 

“It doesn’t matter.” A tense pause. “So, James Reynolds. He’s the guy that…?” 

Laurens nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” They aren’t sure if that’s the guy that Maria took the name from, but it would fall in with the rumors. Another pause. “I beat the shit out of him, though.” 

Hamilton laughs, dark eyes flitting up to meet John’s lighter ones. “I know. Thank God for that.” His thoughts are still elsewhere, though, even with the laugh and the meeting of gazes. Laurens can see the distance in his friend’s face, so he sighs and blows out the candle illuminating the small, cramped cabin. 

“Let’s sleep,” he says, and through the darkness, John knows that Alexander nods. 

xxx 

Alex wakes up early that morning from a fitful, restless sleep, and he’s wide awake. He cranes his neck over to look at his cabinmate, who’s still sleeping peacefully, curling strands of hair lying haphazardly across his face and fluttering with his breath. The younger man smiles looking at him, at the tranquility in every line of his face that never appears while he’s awake. Hamilton sighs and glances around at the tiny cabin, looking at the corroded wood but not really seeing it. He’s too deep in thought. 

_What does Lee want with my ship? What does he want with my friends? And why is he in a group waging war against the revolution?_

The thoughts go in circles around his brain for hours, until Laurens makes a small, sleepy noise from behind him and twitches a little. 

Alexander twists around, grinning, and looks down at the man. “‘Morning, Laurens. I was wondering when you’d finally wake up.” 

“We can’t all wake up hours before dawn, Hamilton,” John mumbles, eyes half-closed. “Good job. You got a solid three hours of sleep.” 

“Wow, new record,” Hamilton says sarcastically, leaning back in his hammock. 

“We’re going out into the city again today,” Laurens suddenly mutters, breaking the silence and fixing Alex with a halfhearted glare. “You gonna up and leave me again?” Hamilton snorts and takes him in for a moment- the cut on the side of his eye, the bruise blossoming beside it, matching the one on his arm (Alex doubts John’s noticed that one yet). 

“What, and let you get all bruised up again? Like hell, Laurens.” 

“Yeah, yeah, and I need to make sure you don’t try to scale a building. Let’s not split up again.” 

“Whatever,” Alexander grumbles, but there’s a smile curling up the side of his lips. 

They go out into the city again that day, Alexander sparking debates about revolution in the middle of squares, Laurens standing beside him giving out their revolutionary essays and making sure no one tries to jump him. Elsewhere, the other pirates of _The Mutineer_ are at work as well, and they are ready. Ready to fight. 

They just need the rest of the world to be ready, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens (and gets gayer) 
> 
> again, please check out my Welcome to Night Vale fic. It'd really be appreciated. 
> 
> I'm sorry for my increasingly sporadic and lame updating schedule. I wish I could say it's gonna improve, but school starts in like two weeks for me, so. Probably not. 
> 
> (also holy shit someone remind me because I forgot about the southernmotherfuckindemocraticrepublicans over the last couple chapters like goddamnit I just forgot about 3 crucial characters what the fuck @ self) 
> 
> PLEASE, drop me a comment. They are my sustenance and one of my few points of validation. Seriously. That sort of thing never fails to make me happy; I love hearing what you think.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple changes. Most very obvious. Some less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a month. 
> 
> remember those times where I updated every day, and it was, like, actually quality writing? now I'm down to once every more-than-thirty-days, and the writing is shit. sorry. 
> 
> anyway, I sped up the plot because I figure I might as well not prolong your suffering. I didn't want to become That Fanfic, but I totally did. sorry. sorry. 
> 
> please enjoy anyway!!

A month spent at New York City, and then they’re gone again, pulling up anchor and sailing off. 

As the city skyline disappears into the distance, sharp angles into faint smudge into nothing, Laurens bursts out laughing. “How the hell did they not notice that we’re pirates?” he chokes out through his giggles, and then the rest join in. The whole thing’s ridiculous, really; they go to a city and stir up trouble for a solid month, and not a single soul tracks the troublemakers themselves back to one ship. All the pirates were on deck, congratulating themselves and each other for another successful-- 

Wait. 

No, not all pirates. 

Burr, Jefferson, and Madison were in on the celebrations; they were passing out drinks. Angelica, Eliza, and Maria were up on deck, too, talking with Mulligan and Lafayette. The Washingtons presided over it all, Martha at the ship’s wheel, George watching over them. And Alexander- Alexander was right next to him, as always. 

But Lee was nowhere to be seen. 

Laurens feels a weight drop into his stomach. Lee had been acting shifty all month, slinking back to the ship late at night, leaving early in the morning, and no one could report seeing him around the city. They’d watch him go at dawn, he and Alexander, watch him quietly cross the deck and meet their eyes in a stony glare. Of course Lee was nowhere to be seen. 

Well, he could only hope they left him on the mainland. 

“Lee’s not here,” Alex mutters, displaying that strange talent of echoing his thoughts once again. 

John nods. “Yeah. Maybe we forgot him back in New York,” he says with a smirk. “Wouldn’t that be great?” Hamilton snorts and leans against him briefly. 

“I wish. No, I saw him go belowdecks as soon as we raised anchor.” 

“Damn.” 

Jefferson saunters up to them and practically throws the two bottles of liquor at their faces. Laurens catches his easily; Alex’s bounces off his fumbling hands and shatters on the ground at his feet. Hamilton yelps and jumps back, glaring furiously at Thomas, who shrugs and walks away. 

“That little shit,” Alex grumbles. John knows he doesn’t really mind, though; Jefferson and Alexander have a rivalry going that’s fun at some times, downright mean at others. But Alex doesn’t seem to mind that much, and as long as _he_ doesn’t care, Laurens doesn’t either. 

“Shame. Guess you’ll just have to knock some sense into him later,” John says nonchalantly. “I mean, that’s always been your favorite part, right?” 

 

Alex admits, “Well, yeah. Petty crimes mean nothing to me when I can sort of covertly shove him over the edge of the ship.” 

“Oh, please, like you’d do that. Plus, I think you’re a bit too small to manage it.” 

Hamilton gasps in mock offense before a sly grin steals across his face. “My dear Laurens, I assure you, I’m quite _large.”_

John snickers in spite of himself and elbows him indignantly, but before he can open his mouth to retort, Washington begins to speak. 

“Quiet down, everyone,” the captain calls out, and the pirates immediately fall silent. “I’ve been thinking for a while about something very important in regards to the ranks on this pirate ship. I need somebody I can depend on. Someone who can help to roll this war forwards. Who has proven themselves time and time again on the battlefield and on the streets. Who is dedicated to our cause more than anyone. There is somebody on this ship who deserves a place of authority, and I’m sure you will all agree.” 

At this point, Washington is just drawing about the suspense for his own amusement, and now he pauses, looking at the eyes of the pirates around him. Maria, of course, is impartial- she’s already an officer, after all. Mulligan seems largely uninterested, and while Lafayette seems to care slightly more, they, too, aren’t nearly as excited as Jefferson and Hamilton. Laurens knows that this probably won’t turn out well, just from looking at the determined faces of the two men. 

“Alexander Hamilton, I believe that you more than anyone have earned a place in the higher ranks of this fine ship.” 

Beside Laurens, Hamilton grins brightly, eyes darting triumphantly towards Jefferson, who shrugs and rolls his eyes like he didn’t care in the first place and the very idea that he did was absolutely ridiculous. Washington beckons Alex up to him, a certain kind of warmth in his eyes, the way you’d look at a son you were proud of. 

“Welcome, Alexander,” the captain says, and the crew applauds, even Jefferson. Even Lee, slinking up from belowdecks and joining in before he understands what’s happening. His eyes narrow to furious slits when he sees where Hamilton is standing, and it takes all of Laurens’s self-control not to run over and block Alex from Lee’s snakelike, angry stare. 

xxx 

Even a few days later, Alexander can hardly believe what had happened. 

Granted, the rank was more symbolic than anything else, but seeing as it symbolized the fact that he was apparently skillful enough to take command if need be, he was definitely awestruck. Besides, even Jefferson was acting more respectful towards him, even if it was probably more subconscious than anything else. He gets teased about how Washington favors him all the time by his friends, and even Burr would sometimes needle at him, that mysterious, semi-forced smile still on his face. Alex still isn’t quite sure how to feel about that political smile. 

But what matters is that he’s happy; he’s happy giving the command to attack an enemy ship, happy as Madison gives him a respectful nod as they pass each other on deck, happy as he’s offered some of the finest wine in his weekly meetings with Washington, happy as he finally becomes so much more than an orphan pirate. 

The only thing he’s worried about is Lee and Laurens. 

A dirty glance shot between Laurens and Lee there, a look that can only be defined as scheming from Lee when Laurens turns his back here. Lee, glaring out at the water when he thinks no one is looking. Laurens, glaring at Lee’s back as he does so, the set of his mouth and the squint of his eyes spelling out only hostile and distrust. 

As much as the crew is winning, the atmosphere is tense, a looming cloud the color of ink on a shining blue sky. Revolution is coming, certainly, but so is mutiny. And as similar as those words are in meaning, Alexander wants only the former to happen. As unlikely as it is. 

So, to put it simply, he’s pleased when, months after gaining his new authority, Washington announces that they’re going to dock at a tiny, barely-known island off in the middle of the Atlantic, somewhere between New York and Europe. 

It’s dark when the pirate exit the ship, swaying as they hit the ground, laughing and stumbling into each other as they try to regain their land legs. The black, inky scrawl that proudly proclaims The Mutineer on the side of their ship is boarded up, with a sloppy branding of The Hurricane written on top of the uneven wood. 

Alex and John hop off the ship together, leaning onto one another for support as they stagger into the town, grinning, all promises of war and leadership gone, if only for the moment. As if by unspoken order, the pirates split up, going down different side streets. The two Schuylers, plus Maria, trail after them, and the quintet banter and joke as they walk, clasping mugs from the tavern they’d stopped by. It begins to snow, just lightly, as they walk, and Alexander remembers suddenly that it’s winter. Snow is rare in temperate zones like this, he thinks but is unsure. He asks Angelica and she shrugs, laughing at her own lack of knowledge as she sips hot cider. His thoughts are pleasantly muddled; they have been since about a week ago. He doesn’t really know what to think about that. More being unsure, but for some reason, that doesn’t strike him as odd. 

They find themselves at the edge of the little ocean village, standing on an empty beach, gray-brown sand turning almost silver as the half moon strikes it, glowing faintly in the light. 

“Dare you to go into the water,” Angelica says, breaking the silence that had fallen across the pirates without them even knowing it, and they laugh, clasping their cold hands around their cooling mugs. 

“Not a chance,” John replies with a smirk, probably just to bicker, and Angelica shoots back with a “Really, Laurens? How boring,” and then they’re laughing and shoving at each other for some reason, stumbling closer to the waves. Eliza, Maria, and Alexander dart after them, none sure why they’re laughing, all breathless because of it. The waves hiss at their feet, and Eliza shrieks at the cold of it, and Maria grins widely and sweeps her up into some sort of bridal position, somehow managing to run freely across the beach with Eliza in her arms. Angelica dashes behind them, yelling that Eliza was her sister before anything else. Alex snickers at Angelica's indignation, watching them go but not following. And then he and John are alone, watching the waves crash down, wincing slightly as the frigid water licks at their bare toes. He gazes at the other man, taking in his loose stance, and messy, curly hair, and shining hazel eyes, and the way his lips curve up ever so slightly as he stares out into the water, relaxed. _He’s beautiful by the light of the moon,_ Alexander realizes suddenly, watching silvery light play across John’s face. There are a hundred sonnets he could compose at this very moment, and none of those perfect sonnets could capture the beauty of it all, two figures standing alone on a beach lit by the moon, completely safe and completely happy and completely at peace. Complete. _Love,_ he thinks, and realizes what it means a second too late. _Love._

His heart flips over in his chest. 

_Love has no place in a war._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want an explanation, here's one, but if you don't give a shit, I a.) don't blame you and b.) think you should skip the following paragraph. 
> 
> so, what happened is this: I continued to love Hamilton, but stopped caring all that much about Lams. it really sucks to just.... stop caring about the couple you're writing. but you all know that. so here's the real thing: I started high school. I'm getting into a bunch of extracurriculars (e.g. the GSA and my Drama Club) so I've basically sold my soul to that sort of thing, not to mention homework, mental instability, and a bunch of other shit I need to work through. except here's the thing: I can't get out of practice when it comes to writing. I need to keep going. I also owe this to you as readers who care. I started this story, and I need to finish it. thank you. 
> 
> please, please, please leave me a comment! they are the lights of my life! 
> 
> see you later, guys.


	20. Author's Note

((EDIT: after seven and a half months of abandonment, I returned to this fic to give it closure. So go read that!))

I'm sorry. I know it totally sucks to open up a fanfic that finally got updated after literal months only to see that the most recent chapter is titled "Author's Note" because goodness knows _that_ never meant anything good. Plus, it didn't even update. Kind of a failure all the way around if you ask me. 

Basically, I'm writing to say that I can't do this fic anymore. There are thousands of explanations, but basically they boil down to this: Here are the things I have now that I did not have before. 

1\. Friends  
2\. Shows to be in  
3\. Homework  
4\. High school. 

Here are the things I do not have that I used to have. 

1\. An interest in this story  
2\. Free time  
3\. ~~a will to live~~ Parents that weren't overly protective of me.  
4\. An obsession with the Tony-award-winning musical, "Hamilton". I mean don't get me wrong, I still love it, I just don't feel the soul-consuming obsession for it that I used to feel. 

All these factors combine to create a person that really just doesn't want to write the fucking fanfiction. 

I rolled out of bed this morning with full intentions of actually updating it, and then I realized that I just couldn't. Earlier this week, someone left a comment on one of my other fics pointing out how predictable and lazy it was, and it kind of opened my eyes: Lams fanfics are so incredibly predictable it's literally painful. Obviously this doesn't go for every fic, but for the most part, they just _are_ (unless, you know, the writer randomly kills off a major character). All this to say that I just can't be bothered. Duh, Laurens and Hamilton are going to get together. If any of you guys are invested enough to write an alternate ending where the author doesn't cop out and this actually happens, do it. Tell me and I'll link the fic in the description of this one. I'm incredibly guilty that I did this- it's such a lame move- but it happened, and I'm not going to go back and fix it. 

Here are some ways to contact me: 

I'm on Instagram @aggressivelizard. I'm on Flight Rising (a really fun online game) @thelizard. I'm on an art app called DrawCast @thelizard. I like lizards, okay? They're good. Feel free to message me if you like, or, you know, don't. It's all good.

Thank you all so much for your devotion to this fic. Thank you for sticking with it to the very end, which seems to be this. 

((EDIT: after seven and a half months of abandonment, I returned to this fic to give it closure. So go read that! It’s the next chapter!))


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> revolution (n);   
>  a: a sudden, radical, or complete change  
>  b: a fundamental change in political organization; especially : the overthrow or   
>  renunciation of one government or ruler and the substitution of another by the governed
> 
> resolution (n);   
>  the act or process of resolving: such as  
>  a: the act of analyzing a complex notion into simpler ones  
>  b: the act of answering  
>  c: the act of determining
> 
> (or, alternatively: a few years later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. over a year after I started this. over seven months since I discontinued it. you're asking this: what the hell is this? why are you back? 
> 
> honestly? me too. but basically, I had a minor medical emergency last night, and I'm honestly probably still a little bit fucked up and dazed after that (excuse my errors in the chapter, btw), so hey, why not give resolution to a fanfiction I jettisoned in, like, December? 
> 
> does it make sense? no. 
> 
> did it happen anyway?
> 
> yes. 
> 
> and I'm glad it did. 
> 
> truly, from the bottom of the heart of an author who abandoned you: enjoy this final chapter. it's been a journey, guys.

The sun hovers just above the sea, incrementally descending towards the watery horizon. Above it, the sky is streaked with red and deep pinks, fading into a dark blue almost the same color as the bottom of the ocean. On that ocean, a ship sails, a small wooden craft that has made its name fighting for a revolution. 

They fought for a revolution. 

This night, tonight, marks the day they won that revolution they’d spent years catalyzing. 

A small man stands in the crow’s nest, watching the sun inch downwards. His breaths are slow and steady, but his hands shake. They’d set out earlier that day, leaving a country in victory, cheering at their freedom. It had seemed right for them to go on one last voyage. Their captain had stayed behind. He’d made his own mark in history, and the public expected him to lead, so he would, of course, no matter what he’d wanted. His wife had too, as expected. Jefferson, Burr, Madison- they did the same. Lee had left, long, long ago. Leaving just a few. Angelica. Eliza. Maria. Lafayette. Hercules. John. 

And him. Alexander. 

They've all aged over this war, weariness draped like a cloak over their bodies, eyes hollow, bones tired, gray beginning to streak their hair prematurely. Scars cross their skin. 

He pulls in a deep breath and looks down at the deck. Below him, the remaining crew members laugh and drink anyway, shouting victoriously. They cheer, as if the war has come without any tolls. As if Peggy hadn’t died. As if Lafayette wasn’t struck in the leg, shattering their bone and making them walk with a limp, forever. As if even now, he, Alexander, didn’t have a constant tremor in his hands, making his writing shaky and almost illegible. 

He spits out a curse and turns his eyes back up to the sky. He’s not sure exactly what he’s looking for, but he scans the sky anyway, trying to ignore the way his fingers tremble against the edge of the crow’s nest. Suddenly, from below, he hears a scratching at the mast, and a slight shaking beneath his feet. Alexander smiles ruefully to himself and waits, watching the opposite side of the tiny wooden enclosure. 

A few moments pass, and Alex sighs softly. _Maybe I just imagined it?_ His half smile twists down, and his face is set again. _No. No one’s gonna come for you, Hamilton._

“Alexander!” someone shouts in his ear, and Alexander whips around with a yell of surprise, almost leaping out of the crow’s nest. 

“Son of a b- Laurens!” he snaps, but can’t keep the grin from returning to his face. John grins and clambers over the edge, swinging himself into the small space of the crow’s nest. His face has changed over the course of the war. It’s more angled now, hollowed out, and his gaze is far-off, like the flash of the bayonet and the blood on his skin will forever be just within his eyesight. A scar crosses his cheek, creating silvery tissue that almost seems to shine in the low light. He’s more muscular now, too, and he’s let his hair grow longer over the course of the revolution. 

A low laugh startles him out of his thoughts, and Alexander jerks slightly, blushing and embarrassed. He’d let his eyes wander too long. 

“What’re you looking at, Alexander?” John’s face is smiling, but beneath the mirth, there’s something serious in his eyes, almost challenging. They look at each other for a moment.

Alexander lets his smile change into something a bit sharper, and he doesn’t look away. “You.” 

The other man’s grin widens, eyes lighting up, freckled nose crinkling up. “Good.” 

A hand touches Alexander’s, and he breaks his stare with Laurens in surprise to look at it. Freckled. Tan. Slightly calloused. Just the same as it was when this man pulled him out into the fire and into the light, into the world of pirates and camaraderie and war and death and albatrosses and so, so much beauty. He looks back up to John’s face, and laughs slightly. His hands still shake, but he can’t feel them anymore, can’t make himself focus on it any longer. 

Alexander laughs again, but he’s dead serious. “Laurens, what are we doing?” 

John cocks his head, the movement just a bit flirty but his eyes are calm, and they look deep into his. “I suppose that’s up to us, isn’t it?” 

And then they’re kissing, and John’s hands are on Alexander’s hips, and Alexander’s are in his hair, and the only thing Alexander can focus on is breathing and lips and the warm feeling of his heart revolting and his chest heating up and trying not to smile as he kisses the man he loves. 

Below them, their crewmates continue to drink, to celebrate that they are still here despite so many people that only wanted them gone. Below them, the sun finally slips into the sea. 

Above them, the sky begins to fill with stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> drop me a comment if you enjoyed this story. 
> 
> thank you to my readers, especially to those who have dealt with my bullshit from the first fumbling word I published on the fic all the way to these sloppy last words I write through a haze of medication. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this. I know I did. 
> 
> much love, 
> 
> the author.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friend! Hopefully you really liked this chapter and overall story! 
> 
> If you did appreciate this, hated this, or felt anything at all pertaining to this, please drop me a comment! I really benefit from constructive criticism (especially considering I know basically nothing about boats or the government), and I'm always open to questions you might want answered. 
> 
> I love getting feedback and kudos, but even more so, keep reading! Thank you all! 
> 
> Till the next chapter- goodbye.


End file.
